


The Scarlet String

by Cee5



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Lestrolly, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Other, Potterlock, Romance, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Teenlock, exchangelock AU 2014, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 52,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cee5/pseuds/Cee5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder occurs at Hogwarts: Victor Trevor, a Gryffindor student and seeker, is found dead at the Owlery. Professors are convinced the crime was perpetrated by someone from outside the school; Sherlock Holmes is certain this was the work of a student. He decides to tackle the case all by himself but his plans are frustrated by Hogwarts' own team of detectives, who name themselves, 'The Scotland Yard.'<br/>This is the year Sherlock meets John, new friendships are made, and Hogwarts is in grave danger. There is always, however, time for romance, study and Quidditch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preamble

**Author's Note:**

> For Valery
> 
> This fic was written as a challenge for exchangelock on tumblr. 
> 
> **Acknowledgements** (which is a fancy word for thank yous):
> 
> Missevalyn to whom this was written; I had a great time plotting this fic, I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Bumblebeesandsussex, Lizthirose and Kathy Swadai for the support and enthusiasm, and for 'listening' to my rambles and euphoria while I was writing this fic.
> 
> My beta readers: Emily, El and Breanna; any mistake you find it's my doing, not theirs.  
> *  
> Please note that I am not an English native speaker, I had about a month to write this fic and the beta reading is still on-going.  
> Podfic will be available. Eventually. :)

 

*

In this chapter you will be given some background story, timeline, and an explanation of my choice on the characters’ House placement, as well as an introduction to the Hogwarts’ staff at the time of the story. Please note that you do not have to read this chapter in order to understand the story, but it will give you a better insight of it.

_*_

**Timeline and Other Important Matters**

I allowed myself some liberties in order for all characters to be roughly the same age and to have Mycroft around at times as well, because I really wanted to include him in the story.

The story takes place whilst Sherlock is in his fifth year at Hogwarts. I used the timeline provided by some setlock pictures for Sherlock’s birthdate: 6th January 1977 and at the beginning of the story he is fifteen years old. I do realise this timeline would clash with the real Harry Potter’s but this is an AU so I figured it would be of no real use to try and contour it in any way.

Apart from Irene Adler, who is in her sixth year, all main characters are, like Sherlock, attending their fifth year. I had the necessity of creating a few charms and a Ministry Office, Healers Without Borders which is the wizarding version of our Doctors Without Borders, as you may have deduced, as well as a school newspaper and new school classrooms.

You can check the charms I made up and their use at the end of the story, to avoid spoilers.

*****

**Characters’ Childhood**

_John Watson and Mike Stamford_

Mike Stamford and John Watson grew up together in a wizarding neighbourhood.

However, their knowledge of Muggles is very broad. Mike’s parents work at the Ministry of Magic, in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, so Mike has been surrounded by Muggles’ items all of his life. Also, despite being a pure-blood, his parents have always incentivised him to learn more about Muggles and other creatures, like Goblins and House Elves (they do own a house-elf, who they treat as part of the family.)

John Watson has always led a lonely life. His parents – also pure-blood – work as Healers Without Borders and John had been raised mostly by his only living grandparent - his grandmother - until she passed away one year before he went to Hogwarts.

Whilst Mike has taught all he knows about Muggles to John, John has spent many afternoons reading healing books at his parents' library, information he has easily learned and passed on to Mike. John’s sister, Harriet, is a Gryffindor who has just finished her last year at Hogwarts and takes all of John’s parent’s attention – which is already scarce - causing trouble at every step.

John and Mike’s friendship is an exchange of knowledge. However, whilst Mike is certain he wants to become a Healer and a Healing Professor, John feels like he may want to look for a more thrilling career himself.

Mike is the scholar; John learns fast but doesn’t have patience to learn by cramming. This is why, when they go to Hogwarts, they stop spending as much time together as before.

In one point they are the same, though: accepting.

*

_Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes and Molly_

Sherlock, Mycroft and Molly live in a Muggle neighbourhood. Sherlock and Mycroft’s parents are half-blood but both wizards, Molly lives alone with her father, a Muggle.

Sherlock and Molly met at their Muggle primary school and even though Sherlock doesn’t necessary loathe her company, he doesn’t search for it at first either. He likes spending time alone because most people have trouble following his train of thought, so he doesn’t always indulge her.  When he does, it’s mostly because he is bored and has grown to admire Molly’s persuasion. Also, because she was the only one who didn’t run screaming when he showed up at primary school on his first day with a dissected frog. Her father is a doctor and he has taught her a few things he has learned from his job. Having grown up in a wizard family and not mingling with the Muggles around him, these things fascinate Sherlock.

Molly’s goal is to become a researcher and help what she calls ‘doctors like my father’ but in the wizarding world. Sherlock doesn’t know if there is anything he can become that will be able to fulfil his need for action, to dismiss his almost constant state of boredom. One thing he is certain: he doesn’t want to become involved with the Ministry of Magic because that’s what Mycroft wants to – and Sherlock is certain he will - do.

*

_Gregory Lestrade_

Muggle-born, wanted to become a Detective like his mother and cried for a whole day when he received his letter to Hogwarts. Neither he nor his parents knew anything about Magic or the Wizarding World and the idea of a separation didn’t go well on any of them.

Gregory claimed that none of it was his division but his father explained that he would have to do the best he could with the situations he came across. So he left to Hogwarts with reluctance, but certain he would find a way to fulfil his dream of becoming a Detective.

*

_Sally Donovan_

Muggle-born just like Lestrade. Fierce, she took the news of being a wizard lightly: rationalising that it explained a lot of things that had happened since she was a child. She is proud of being different and is still unsure of her future, but she knows she will be able to decide what to do when the time comes and she believes there’s no use in worrying ahead of time.

*

_Philip Anderson_

Shy, lonely, focused, clever. Pure-blood, his parents are very strict, and in their understanding, the wizarding world has a chain of power and they are at the top. They demand Anderson to stay away from non-pure-blood, a rule that he ignores completely. Good-hearted, he struggles to keep the cover around his parents for fear of retaliation, but at school he is the first one to defend those in need, the oppressed and bullied.

His parents want him to become involved with the Ministry when older; he wants to work with Healers in some way and in research, to prove that there is no difference between the pure-blooded and Muggle-born.

_Irene Adler_

Both her parents are journalists and run, despite their efforts, a minor wizard magazine whilst working freelance for smaller newspapers. Irene grew up between stories and made-up tales and her parents' ambition was passed on.  She has a gift with words and an ability to tell stories by distorting them and yet still keeping the essence of the truth. Argumentation and physical appearance are her most reliable treasures and her parents’ busy life has always allowed her more liberty than recommended. Pure-blood.

*

_James Moriary and Sebastian Moran_

Moriarty and Moran met at Muggle primary school. 

On the first day of school Moriarty hung an older boy by his ankles to a tree using a rope and a rudimentary pulley system.  Moran made a slingshot and spent the afternoon improving his aim with Moriarty’s directions. It was enough to start a friendship.

A cunning team, James is the brain, the plot deviser; Seb is the plan’s executor. It works perfectly fine. Both pure-bloods who grew up in a Muggle neighbourhood.  

*

Mrs. Hudson

Keeper of the library pretends she doesn’t see students eating around the library’s corridor, and smuggles biscuits herself in times of exams. Match-maker, many lonely students left the library with a date or new friends that she was kind enough to arrange.

***** 

**Hogwarts Houses Placement**

_Sherlock Holmes - Ravenclaw_

Easy placement. Sherlock puts wit, the mind and rational thinking above all. He has trouble entering the Dormitories because he has no patience for riddles, and most of the time it’s Molly who bids an already furious Sherlock in.

_John Watson – Gryffindor_

Bravery and loyalty without precedence conceded him the place in this house. John doesn’t think at first that he particularly has the House’s traits but he will be soon prove otherwise.

_Mike Stamford – Hufflepuff_

Whilst on the train on his first trip to Hogwarts, Mike met a Hufflepuff boy rambling about their common room being next to the kitchen and the elves. As soon as the elves were mentioned Mike knew finally which house he would like to belong to, and his request to the sorting hat counted as much as any of his traits.

_Mycroft Holmes – Ravenclaw_

His father was a Gryffindor, his mother a Ravenclaw. Mycroft was convinced his wit would put him in Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat balanced between placing him in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, deciding for the first option.

Seven years older than Sherlock he has a minor role at the Ministry of Magic, where he reports back to the Minister’s associates and deals with less important cases whilst fighting for a chance to work for the Ministry’s Secret Services.

_Molly Hooper – Ravenclaw_

The Sorting Hat wanted to place her in Hufflepuff for her loyalty, patience and hard work or in Gryffindor for her courage, but after seeing Sherlock being placed in Ravenclaw her choice weighted more in the end.

_Gregory Lestrade – Hufflepuff_

There isn’t a better finder. Lestrade is good at looking for clues and figuring out small crimes like the disappearance of already finished homework and new quills. He knows that if the opportunity arises, he will become a detective, be it common in the wizarding world or not. He will not give up on his dreams.  He knows patience and hard work will take him anywhere.

_Sally Donovan – Slytherin_

Cunning, clever, thinks for herself and doesn’t let anyone influence her opinions. Gets tired of all the ‘Pure-blood’ conversation she so often hears, knows her value, despite being a Muggle-born. She will speak her mind when necessary, never afraid of the repercussions that might bring. People admire her and she is trustworthy. Curious, she will step in to solve strange affairs whether people want it or not. Her company and good relations with the teachers will prove valuable.

_Philip Anderson – Hufflepuff_

The Sorting Hat wanted to place him in Slytherin but having heard about the dungeons in the many books he had read about Hogwarts, the pure-blood stigma and disregard for other creatures, and mostly as defiance to his parents, Anderson begged to be placed into another house. Hufflepuff it was, due to his kind heart, loyalty and patience. He, Sally and Lestrade created a ‘solving crimes’’ team called ‘The Scotland Yard.’

_James Moriarty - Slytherin_

Ambitious and resourceful, the sorting Hat shouted the Hogwarts House he belonged to even before being completely placed on his head. Exactly as he expected.

_Sebastian Moran – Gryffindor_

Partly because of his traits, – he is brave and daring- partly because Moriarty knew it would be wise to have Moran as his accomplice placed in another House.

_Irene Adler – Slytherin_

Ambitious, Irene doesn’t see means to achieve endings. Clever, she knows exactly how to manipulate people into relaying information to her, mostly with the help of her looks. An expert in potions that she uses as needed, the House placement was easy and pleased her.

*****

**School Caretaker**

Mr. Adair

**Quidditch Referee**

Mr. Ludos

**School Nurse**

Mrs. Dee Cave

**Head of the Houses**

_Gryffindor:_   Cor Leonis (Male)

 _Ravenclaw:_ Grey Aquila (Male)

 _Hufflepuff:_   Amin Melis (Female)

 _Slytherin:_ Sesha Anguis (Female)

**School Head Master**

Professor Prudence Adara (Female)

*****

**Ministry Offices**

Ministry’s Secret Services

**Hogwarts’ Newspaper**

The Pupil’s Eye

**Hogwarts New Rooms**

Students’ Potions Room

Ancient Artefacts Room


	2. Murder, He Said

Molly looked at her clock, counting the minutes until the break was due to end. Amazing how time went fast when she had no desire for it to, and seemed to drag whenever she needed it to go faster.

“Einstein’s theory of relativity.” Sherlock said, lifting his head.

During the break, he had been sighing more or less continually, cracking his knuckles, with his head placed on top of the table. Molly was busy doing her homework so she paid him little attention but his baritone voice startled her now.

“What?” She asked.

“What you are thinking about is called Einstein’s theory of relativity. When time seems to go by differently depending on what you are doing.”

“I know, Sherlock. I was the one who taught you that, remember?” She affirmed, going back to her books.

The way Sherlock seemed to have the ability to read minds was no longer a mystery to her. She knew his process, and the fact that she had just looked at her clock and the annoyed look that followed was obviously what had given her away.

“Oh, so you were.” He admitted and he placed his head back on the top of the table, looking around. He could deduce anyone entering the Great Hall. It’s like they are an open book: he can read them at leisure. Secrets, pasts, traumas, anxieties. That, as always in his life, doesn’t make him very popular and Molly is really the only one who has the patience to hear him rambling and deducing people without calling him an idiot.

She is aware that he knows about her infatuation for him. Though he has to admit, at least to himself, that he really has no idea when it actually started. In this, both he and Molly are at a loss. She has never changed her ways with him since they met at primary school and certainly there was a time when she accepted the fact that she liked _liked_ him, but she can’t pinpoint it either. They do not talk about it because Molly is too shy and Sherlock too uninterested.

Sherlock doesn’t mind being alone; sometimes he even prefers it to being with Molly. But other times he needs someone who will listen. Mycroft used to be the only other person in the school that he spoke with – his brother was no longer a student but he worked for the Ministry and during Sherlock’s first year Mycroft would spend time enough there at Hogwarts’s library researching, as it was one of his favourite places – and either way Sherlock had neither patience nor desire to engage in conversations with him that often. All his brother knew was how to make him feel like an idiot, or complain about how he was wasting the little potential he had, something that he still did nowadays, when they met during vacations. Sherlock was aware that his brother could be more clever than he was, but he would rather pin needles in his eyes than admit it. He spent most of his childhood believing he was a moron, up to the point that only when he went to school did he understand that he was only a moron when compared to Mycroft. That discovery was the most shocking thing to his six year old self and had an effect on his ego that nothing until this day was able to change.

“I don’t understand why you are even doing homework now.”

Sherlock complained and the bell went off, marking the end of the break.

“Well, because unlike you, I don’t work well under stress. I need time or I won’t do things properly. And you should buckle up, you know? Astronomy is your worst subject.”

“Astronomy is absolutely gruesome.”

“That’s not going to change the fact that you have to study it this year.”

“Nor will it change the fact that I am giving up on it next year. So why even bother?”

Molly shrugged her shoulders, he had a point. But before she could refute his answer with some power points as to why Astronomy might be necessary, a tumult came from upstairs. Students who were now directing themselves to their assigned classrooms seemed to have stopped right outside the hall and people who were going up the stairs suddenly parted to let a student pass.

Sherlock’s gears started to work straight away. He didn’t know his name – he was terrible at names – but he could read all the rest.

_“Third year. Gryffindor. Divorced parents. Ink on his left hand and a few strips of ripped parchment that hung from his robe revealed that he had been to send a letter. He came then from the Owlery. His grandmother is sick, so that must have been the subject of the letter. To his mother. He must have seen something at the Owlery, right after sending the letter, because he bore no parchment with him but his hair and clothes were dishevelled; he had been running down the stairs. His trousers were ripped on the right knee; he had fallen once, most likely on the second floor.”_

All this Sherlock dictated to himself in just a few seconds. He felt as Molly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, giving the boy who came running down the stairs room to pass them by in the direction of the long table that the teachers had just begun to leave.

The boy stopped right in front of Professor Leonis, Head of Gryffindor. He fell on his knees and then blurted out, tears falling down his cheeks, finger pointing upwards.

“There has been a murder in the Owlery.”

Those eight words are enough to start a commotion. The students’ voices rise, speaking at the same time, a collective ‘Ah!’ echoing on the walls. Sherlock watches as the teachers face each other. He sees as the Head of his own house, Professor Grey Aquila, takes action straight away and paces in the direction of the Professor’s common room, certainly in order to call Hogwarts’ Headmaster, Professor Prudence Adara.

The voice of Professor Leonis is heard above the commotion.

“I want all of you to go to your respective Common Rooms. Do not attempt to go near the Owlery; any student caught outside their rooms will be punished.  Follow the Prefects of your House and the Head Professor of your House will meet you there briefly. Prefects,” He instructed and the respective students, with the badge pinned to their robes, raised their heads, with a feeling of self-importance. “Do not allow anyone to abandon their Common Rooms until a Professor arrives. Are we clear?”

The Prefects nod in unison and each of them starts calling their respective House colleagues, guided by the Head Girl and Boy.

Molly, who is still holding Sherlock’s arm, pulls him by the sleeve.

“Come on, we have to go.”

But Sherlock doesn’t move straight away. He is looking at two boys – a Hufflepuff that he recognises as one of Molly’s friends from the library, Mike Stamford, and a Gryffindor – discussing something. They seem worried and they seem to be looking for someone. The Gryffindor boy looks around and his eyes meet Sherlock’s. Sherlock feels like a hand is being placed on his chest, pushing it in. He frowns and the Gryffindor boy’s eyes dart away as the other boy pulls him by the sleeve and drags him, the same way Molly is trying to drag Sherlock.

“Sherlock, we need to go!”

Molly’s voice shakes him from his trance. He exhales. He hadn’t noticed he was holding his breath. He lets Molly drag him without complaining.


	3. The Inspector And The Yard Meet At Midnight

Despite the effort to keep all the students in silence, the commotion that had started in the Great Hall continued inside the Common Rooms. The students were not allowed to leave them before a thorough search of the Castle and the arrival of someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The students were curious and they all asked questions they were perfectly aware no one knew the answers to. At a certain point even the Head Boy and Girl gave up on trying to keep them quiet.

Around three in the afternoon – the event had taken place right after lunch – Professor Aquila stood at the entrance of Ravenclaw’s Common Room and the place fell silent.

“I am heartbroken to announce that a fellow Gryffindor student has perished today. We don’t know yet the circumstances in which it happened, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is doing the best they can to figure out this hideous crime. It is my duty as Head of Ravenclaw to do my best to make sure my students are safe. The Castle has been researched and there’s no sign of a broken entrance, but I wouldn’t expect anyone from within Hogwarts to be responsible for this, so we are all on high alert and more security has been added. Please report immediately if you see or find anything out of the ordinary. I’ll be available to answer questions that you may have, but be sensible. Parents will be warned and classes will resume as normal tomorrow morning. Enjoy the rest of your free afternoon, have a good night’s rest and trust that we will inform you of any developments.”

The silence remained and some students nodded.  Professor Aquila took a last look at the students and with a final signal to the Prefects and Head Boy and Girl prepared to leave.

“Who was the student who died?”

Sherlock’s voice reverberated through the Common Room, low but sharp. All heads turned to him. Sherlock was known for his witty comments and for never resigning to what a teacher said if he didn’t agree. He had provoked many discussions and the other students weren’t exactly fond of him. To them he was the know-it-all who, luckily enough for him, actually knew it all. That didn’t stop him from irritating others though, so his reputation was well known in his House. But, this time, he had asked what they all have been longing to know.

Professor Aquila took a deep breath before answering.

“His name was Victor Trevor. He was a Fifth Year student. He will be very missed by his friends.”

And without giving anyone else the chance to ask more questions, the Professor turned his back and left through the hole in the wall.

A few hours later the students that remained in the Common Room still debated the case, although Sherlock wondered how on Earth they could come up with so many theories without any data.

Somehow, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff boy that he had seen at the Great Hall knew something. They seemed to be looking for someone and Sherlock wouldn’t be surprised if that someone turned out to be Victor Trevor.

Victor Trevor. He had never heard about him; then again, he didn’t pay much attention to students. Unless they picked a row with him or were saying blatantly stupid things to which he couldn’t help but make a remark whilst insulting them – or as he liked to call it, describe them – so it was no wonder the name didn’t bring anything to his mind.

“I’m going to the library.”

Molly’s voice sounded distant and Sherlock nodded but then faced her.

“What for?”

“I want to finish this,” She said, pointing at her Astronomy book. “But I can’t find what I need. Since we are no longer restricted to the Common Room I am going to take the chance to go now.”

Sherlock got up.

“Are you coming too?”

Molly was surprised; Sherlock wasn’t a usual presence at the library, he preferred the fields where he enjoyed watching people playing Quidditch and bothering all other students by deducing them, or the Students’ Potions Room, where he could try new potions and find new and interesting ingredients and mixtures. He had a catalogue in one of his trunks with the different soils you could find in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and he loved to show his superiority to other students, pointing where they had been solely based on the mud on their shoes. That was why Sherlock, despite being known at Hogwarts, wasn’t so for popular reasons.

“I want to go to the Owlery.” He confessed.

“They won’t let you. It’s probably off bounds for the next days. They’ll be collecting clues and what not.”

Molly’s words were wise but Sherlock was adamant so they left through the Common Room’s door together and split up right after.

Sherlock couldn’t see much. As soon as he started climbing the stairs to the Owlery he could hear voices: the Headmaster and a few others he couldn’t place. He wanted to listen more but he didn’t dare take another step, because he knew the castle steps as well as the back of his hand and he knew that that particular step creaked. When the muffled voices became louder Sherlock knew it was time to leave, so he walked steady and fast, far away from the Owlery as possible. He knew he would have the chance to check on it eventually, but he was afraid it might be too late. By then the Ministry’s team and the Professors would have erased almost any clues, not to mention that footprints would be worthless even now, with so many people up and down. Still, he needed to devise a plan of action to go there before anyone was allowed to again.

A first year student passed by him, carrying a letter.

“There’s no use going to the Owlery.” He said, scaring the small girl who passed him by.

“I am not going to the Owlery. I am going to meet my boyfriend, why don’t you mind your own business?”

Sherlock was left there speechless. He was certainly not that rude at that age, was he?

*

“Shhh!”

Gregory Lestrade’s voice, although low, resounded on the walls. Any sound seemed to echo through the walls of the Castle at that hour of the night. Philip Anderson was walking slowly behind him, carrying his lit wand in front of him and had tripped on his own cloak.

“It’s hardly my fault; this bloody cloak has been too long since day one.”

Lestrade turned around, and pointing Anderson’s wand at his own face, mimicked a plea for silence, finger in front of his own lips. Anderson understood the message and stopped with the explanation.

Lestrade placed his hand on the wall, carefully not to hit any of the portraits. If Sir Cadogan was awoken it would ensue ruckus and their plan would go down the drain, not to mention the sanction they would have to face. It was almost midnight and they were not allowed to walk through the corridors so late.

Followed closely by Anderson, Lestrade went up the stairs, step by step. Almost at the top the stair creaked under his foot and he stopped. There was nothing he could do, and no one seemed to have heard that, but he made a gesture towards Anderson, who skipped that step, pulling his cloak up to avoid tripping again.

When they reached the end of the stairs, Sally Donovan was waiting for them.

“You’re late.” She whispered, annoyed.

“We said midnight, it’s midnight now.”

“No, it was midnight five minutes ago.”

“No it wasn’t…”

“Do you really think this is the time to be arguing about being late?”

It was Anderson who, looking all around, had intervened. He was right, of course, and Sally nodded, to which Lestrade answered in the same way. Sally was holding her wand, but just like Lestrade she had not dare lit it up. Anderson’s wand was enough to light up the place at least for now, while they still figured out what to do.

The plan seemed simple enough in the afternoon, when they had met right after the imposition to stay in their respective Common Rooms had been lifted, but now they had to work with what they had, instead of what they had expected. Being in the same House, Anderson and Lestrade had devised a plan, but they always felt lost without Sally’s help and guidance.

“Have you looked for anything yet?”

Lestrade’s voice was suffocated by an owl, which flew in through the Owlery’s window, carrying a mouse in her beak.

“Bloody hell!” Anderson mouthed.

“It’s just an owl; it’s bound to happen since we are in the Owlery.” Sally remarked.

“Please don’t start with the snarky comments, you too.” Advised Lestrade. “Let’s do this how we had planned. Sally, you check the owls for clues, Anderson you check the floor and I’ll check their nests.”

Once Lestrade gave directions, they would follow without complaining and lighting up their own wands they started searching silently.

They took their time. Lestrade picked up what he thought might be important. Traces of lost parchment and fabric. Once he was done, Anderson and Sally were standing together on the opposite side of the window, waiting. Lestrade made a gesture, asking them to turn off their wands. They were not of much use anymore and it was better to be safe than sorry. Then, he asked:

“Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No, I collected a few samples from the floor and I took a few photographs but with this light it’s very difficult to make out anything. Even with the flash Sally here brought I don’t know if we’ll be able to see anything tomorrow. I guess I’ll only know once I develop the pictures.”

“I don’t see anything of interest here.” Sally interrupted, annoyed.

“Wrong.”

The voice came from the shadows, and Lestrade, Anderson and Sally pointed their wands in front of them to the intruder and spoke all at once.

“Lumos!”

Sherlock was holding his own wand and smirked.

“You’re so worried looking for clues that you are missing the obvious.”

And lighting his own wand he pointed up. The other three followed his gaze. On the ceiling, right above the owls’ nest, there was a lifting device, hanging. Sherlock then pointed at the floor. Right behind the end of the rope, the floor was red. Blood.

“How the hell did you miss that?”

Suddenly Lestrade was not worried about who that stranger was. Suddenly he was utterly in awe of Anderson’s inefficacy.

Anderson kneeled down, pointing at the spot on the floor with his wand.

“I don’t know.”

“It was concealed with a charm.” Sherlock said. “The teachers wouldn’t want us to see that, would they?”

“Then how the hell did you see it?” Anderson asked. This was now a personal war.

“There are a few concealing charms, all you need to know is the counter curse.”

“But none of us heard you.” Sally pointed out. She was looking at him sideways, suspicious.

“I can execute non-verbal charms.” Sherlock explained, cocking his head.

“That’s impossible. Non-verbal charms are…”  Lestrade started.

“Difficult to an insignificant mind, but fairly simple to execute if you are in any way a genius. Which I am.”

Lestrade and Sally exchanged looks. Anderson was fuming.

“Either way, that’s not important.”

Sherlock looked around, then he kneeled down and removed a small plastic bag from his pocket. He scrapped the floor and collected some of the dried blood.

Then, walking around the Owlery ignoring the three others, he measured footprints and collected other things he thought might be of use.

“You can’t do that.” Lestrade said, He felt betrayed, as if replaced. Sherlock was doing what they had gone there to do, and they were first.

“Yes I can.”

Sherlock faced them again. Lestrade spoke.

“This is our case. We are on it now. We have tackled things like this before.”

“Oh, yeah? What, helping students find lost quills and stolen homework? I have seen you working.” He said to Lestrade. “It takes you weeks to find the culprit every time; that’s an absolute lack of capacity. Most of the cases you say you have been ‘tackling’ took me seconds to figure out.”

They were all lost for words.

“This is a murder. A bit more important than lost quills in my opinion, and in my point of view way beyond your capabilities.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Lestrade interrupted. “We are still going to work on it.”

“As you wish, if you enjoy wasting time, that’s up to you.”

“We could tell on you.” It was Anderson who spoke.

“Go ahead.” Sherlock said. “You have no proof. I’d like to know how you are going to explain to a teacher you saw me here tonight without having to explain what you were doing here yourself as well.”

And without prolonging the conversation Sherlock murmured ‘Nox!’ turned his back and left them there, lit wands in hand, not knowing what to think.

When Lestrade looked at the ceiling and at the floor, both the rope and the bloodied floor had disappeared again.

*                              

Back at his Common Room – he hadn’t fussed with the riddle, he knew how important it was to figure it out at this time of the night – Sherlock sat on his bed and looked at the items he had picked up from the Owlery. Most of the things he had expected to find there: old parchment, traces of lost quills and rope used to tie the letters to the Owls. The dried blood he had scrapped from the floor, as well as a few different types of mud didn’t tell him much now and they would have to be examined the next day. One thing caught his attention, though: a single scarlet string that, as far as he could tell right now, didn’t match anything he had ever seen at Hogwarts


	4. Scotland Yard Requires Back Up

On the second morning break Sherlock was sitting at the table on the Great Hall apparently looking through his Potions’ notes, but in fact, concealed by the big volume he held in his hands, was a catalogue of small bits of ropes he had collected himself over time. Some of them from his own home and neighbourhood, that he had sampled as a child, others were pieces he had found at Hogwarts since his first year. He had never needed it until now.

Molly was sitting by his side, immersed in homework, not sure if she should take care of History of Magic first, that was more demanding for her and needed more focus, or Potions.

Sherlock closed his book with a sudden thumping noise when he sensed three shadows walking together in the direction of the Ravenclaw’s table. Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan sat in front of him, uninvited.

“We want to talk to you.”

Molly looked up, startled and her eyes met Lestrade’s who smiled instinctively. She blushed and smiled back.

“Alone.” Anderson affirmed, staring intently at Molly.

“Oh!” She mumbled, gathering her things in a rush. “Oh, okay, I’ll just…”

“No, you don’t have to go.” Lestrade said, getting up as she got up, worried about how rude they were being.

“No, it’s fine.” Molly said.

And she grabbed her purse and her books and left. Lestrade followed her with his eyes until she disappeared beyond the Hall. Sally pulled him by his sleeve, making him sit.

Sherlock seemed annoyed, but not surprised.

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” He said.

“Yes, you do.”

It was Sally who took the lead in the conversation. Lestrade was softer and Anderson had insisted in not talking to Sherlock himself that morning, while they were discussing their plan of action.

“We all want to know the same, so Lestrade here thought we might work together on this.”

Sherlock could sense by the way she was speaking that Lestrade’s idea did not please her, but that she had been the minority when deciding what to do, so now she had to comply.

“I couldn’t care less what any of you think. What do I win from working with you? I know who you are; I’ve seen you working before. Hogwarts own private team of detectives.” Sherlock‘s tone was mocking. “You’re slow. You have figured out simple, easy cases; that’s not enough to have me interested in working with you.”

“Maybe not.” Sally continued. “But we have means and connections and people who trust us.”

Sherlock shrugged.

“The only reason you want me to work with you is because you have realised last night that I know more advanced magic and I have more clues than you. Don’t try to trick me.”

“We are not trying to trick you.” Lestrade assured. “But you have vital clues for this investigation…”

Sherlock scoffed. Sally got up.

“I’m not staying here seeing him humiliating us. We can figure things out all by ourselves. We’ve taken care of cases before, we don’t need an amateur.”

Anderson held her by the cloak but let go as soon as she faced him, furious.

“You’re a Muggle born and you have spent all of your childhood at Muggle School trying to prove your value. You’re part of a minority, some kids were racist, and you have learned how to defend yourself. Better yet, you found out you have something none of them had: magic. So you made a vow to yourself that you would never let anyone take the best out of you and that you would prove that skin colour is not a restriction, that you are as worth of respect as anyone else. Your father is a tailor, your mother a hairdresser. You’re proud of them and you want to show them, more than anyone, that you can thrive in anything you set your mind to. Even in a House whose students are in their majority Pure Blood. You want to stick out and prove that even against the odds you can be better than them.”

Sherlock finished his deduction leaving a lot without saying. Not because he pitied her, he wasn’t like that, but because by then Lestrade and Anderson seemed to be ready to jump out of the bench they were sitting on.

Sally leaned forward.

“I have no idea why you decided to question people about me or who got you that information, but I am not afraid of you.”

“I didn’t ask anyone. I can see it.”

“See it?”

“Yes, see it. Plain as day. Where should I start? On the necklace you are wearing that has a lock in which you clearly stacked your acceptance letter? On your cloak’s fabric that you can’t find anywhere in Diagonally, the perfection with which it was made and the lines that sew it together, that shows that it was not created by someone inside the wizarding world? You have different bits of hair on it though, because your mother washed it but then you went to her hair saloon before leaving for the train, and the seam, too long for you, grabbed a few hairs your mother had been cutting that day, on the way out.”

Sally swallowed, frowning.

“You’re so full of…”

“Oh, okay, okay! Can we please just calm down and talk?”

Lestrade had finally found some composure and stared intently at Sally, until she sat down by his side, not bothering to face Sherlock anymore.

“How did you do that?” Lestrade asked.

“How did I do what?”

Sherlock was pretending not to understand while enjoying the effect he had had in all of them. Even on Sally. No; especially Sally.

“That, what you just did. How can you possibly know all that about her? You said you haven’t been asking.”

“Why would I ask about _her_?” The spite on his voice was clear. “Why would I inquire about any of you?”

“So, how did you do it?”

Sherlock could decide not to answer, send them away and tell them to bugger off, but his ego spoke louder.

“I saw it.”

“Saw it?” This time was Anderson that asked, with a chuckle.

“Yes, saw it. Like a map, like a book. I can read all of you with a single look. It’s not difficult. Some people take a bit longer to figure out, but you are all obvious. Plain as day.”

Anderson was going to retaliate but Lestrade raised a hand and crossed his hands in front of his chest.

“Okay, then. Do it. Read me.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Why?”

“Because I am curious and you are dying to show off. Go on.”

Sherlock stared at him for a second and then sighed, as if bored.

“You didn’t want to come to Hogwarts. And, in a way, you are still trying to make up for everything you lost once you came here. Which is why you have been playing Detectives ever since you got here for the first time. Your father cheated on your mother, she found out – is she the detective of the family, then? – and now they are going through the process of divorcing. You’re still mad at both of them, specially your father to whom you don’t speak ever since you came back to Hogwarts this year.”

Lestrade, open mouthed, let his arms fall on his lap. He could not fathom how he had seen that. With Sally, the explanation was easy enough once told, but with him? He tried to talk but Sherlock cut his speech.

“So, as you can see, I really don’t know what makes any of you think I will want to work with you. What do I get from it?”

It was Anderson who spoke; Lestrade was too in awe; Sally still too furious.

“We have means, we told you.”

“What sort of means?”

“The laboratory. The Potions Room is by the Dungeons and Sally can use it. “

“All students can use the Potions Room. And it’s by the library.” Sherlock refuted.

“That’s the Students’ Potions Room.” Sally explained, an expression of disdain still on her face. “You have access to a few ingredients, but not all. I don’t know how you expect to examine that blood without Cruor.”

Sherlock looked at her.

“I didn’t know Hogwarts had a supply of Cruor.”

“We know you didn’t know.” Sally replied. “But it has. We can’t get our own sample of that blood you took because we don’t know the counter curse for the concealment charm they used, and the Owlery will be out of bounds for a while, either way. The owls have been moved to the fields, the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures helped. By the time they allow us to get back to the Owlery it will all have been cleaned in the process, so there will be no use.” She took a pause. “Hogwarts has a supply of various things that are out of bounds for students at the Teachers’ Potions Room and I am the best student of my class, I have permission to use it, but I am not allowed to touch certain supplies without licence. I can still ask Professor Anguis for a bit of Cruor, research reasons, I’m sure she trusts me enough for that. And the sample you took, without that, is useless.”

She knew how to play the cards. Sherlock nodded.

“Very well.” He said. “But I have a question.”

Lestrade nodded.

“Why do you guys call yourselves Scotland Yard?”

They all looked at each other and Sally rolled her eyes.

“Well, because we met when we broke up a fight between two guys who were discussing how many meters is a yard and we later found out we all have Scottish ancestors, and we needed a name for our group so… It fit. We were eleven years old but now the name is stuck.” Lestrade added, as a way of excuse.

Sally looked embarrassed. Sherlock chuckled.

“And I thought nothing could sound more ridiculous than the name itself.”

The school bell went off and they got up. Sherlock picked his things and started to pace away.

“So, are you going to help us?” Lestrade asked, before he was out of reach.

Sherlock turned around, walking backwards.

“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

And he left them standing there at the Hall, going to his class with a smile on his face.


	5. Mike Stamford Introduces: Holmes Meets Watson

Sherlock decided to put his lunch break for good use. He rarely ate and when he did he had a very strange schedule. Sometimes, if it wasn’t for Molly, he would forget to eat for days on end, as long as his mind was working on something, he really didn’t put much thought on his physical needs.

The Students’ Potions Room was, as usual, well lit and there, just like in the corridors, the candles hung, apparently without anything holding them. Sherlock didn’t know why enchanted candles were needed since they held no purpose, but he had more pressing things to take care of at the moment than the Students’ Potions Room’s decorations.

He had been studying the rope he had seen at the Owlery all morning, comparing it to the samples he had gathered over time, and none of them seemed to fit. The rope was old and the pulley system that held it rudimentary though he couldn’t be completely sure of this, of course. The presence of ‘The Yard,’ as he called them in his mind, had been a distraction; he did not expect them there and he really just wanted to leave the place before getting into trouble. He had been caught sneaking around the corridors more than once already; when his brain was working he had trouble sleeping, so the evening walks were mostly due to insomnia, but teachers didn’t care about his reasons. The school had rules and walking, past curfew, in the corridors of the Castle was breaking them. The punishments were never severe. He was sure however, that being caught in Owlery right after it had been put off bounds would have had a different outcome.

The Students’ Potions Rooms was as usually deserted; Potions was a demanding subject and no one wished to spend more time dealing with it than necessary, so Sherlock took advantage of that. Here he could always not only try out some new potions but also get some privacy.

He placed his bag on the floor and opened the cupboard with the potions’ supplies. He needed a reaction so he fiddled with the bottles while reading the labels. When he found what he was looking for, he picked up a dagger and a small silver plate. He cut a bit of the rope he had collected the night before and placed it on the plate. Then, he picked the potion he had chosen from the cupboard and placed two drops over the rope.

It didn’t react. The rope had not been magically produced and most likely was of Muggle origin. Sherlock kept a study file he had composed on his free time about wizard ropes, their makers and materials. Every wizard rope contained magical features to make it more durable, and some to make it more flexible. That was not a wizard’s rope.

Sherlock frowned, not knowing exactly what to make of it.

At that moment the door of the Potions Room opened; he lifted his head as the hinges screeched.

Mike Stamford walked into the room, his black and yellow Hufflepuff tie perfectly placed on his neck. It was well ironed along with his his cloak. Behind him came the Gryffindor boy Sherlock had noticed in the Great Hall just the day before. He was not looking as dapper as Mike, but the look seemed to complement him entirely.

“Hi, Sherlock.” Mike stated.

He didn’t have a lot of confidence talking to Sherlock; Mike knew him mainly because Molly dragged him to the library once in a while, during exam times. It was always more to help her with her revision than anything else, and Mike was Molly’s friend. Sherlock never seemed to pay much attention to him, either way, which was something that Mike did not take personally; Sherlock didn’t seem to pay attention to anyone. Though, by Molly’s stories and his own experience, Mike knew that Sherlock saw a lot more with one single glance than anyone he had ever met. Mike had seen him spill his deductions more than once and the explanations never ceased to amaze him.

“Mike.” Was all Sherlock said.

The other boy looked at Sherlock curiously and Mike looked at him before continuing.

“Uum, this is John Watson.”

Sherlock looked up. He glanced at John and inquired, looking nonchalant.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John blinked a few times and then looked at Mike, then back at Sherlock.

“Sorry, what?”

“Your parents. Are they stationed in Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan. How do you know…?”

Sherlock smirked but didn’t answer; he looked at Mike, asking silently for an explanation about the current visit.

“We would like to hire your services.”

The formal way Mike had said that made Sherlock laugh. It was a sharp, low laugh and it resonated on the walls of the Students’ Potions Room.

“And which services are those?”

Mike seemed to regret even coming to Sherlock but John was not willing to give up this easily.

“It’s because of Victor Trevor.”

Sherlock posture changed completely. His back straightened and his brow furrowed.

“How so?” He asked, interested.

The boy’s eyes widened and he took a deep breath. Sherlock observed the way his pupils dilated and he could see his heart pounding on his neck. His eyes were a sort of greyish blue and his hair was light brown, almost blonde, parted to the side.

“He died yesterday. He was murdered.”

“Yes.” Sherlock said. “What about it?”

“Well, he was my friend. He was a seeker on the Gryffindor team. He was the best player in the field and no one is telling us what happened to him. I would like to know.”

Sherlock breathed slowly before answering.

“I don’t know much more than you do. No one has reported what happened to him to the school yet and I doubt they will go into details. They just said he had been murdered. So, I don’t know how I can help.”

“We tried Scotland Yard,” confessed Mike. “They say they are on it already but I don’t really know if they are capable of taking care of something like this. Either way when I asked if they could keep me informed they said they had more important things to do. I was talking to Molly. She said that she thinks you may be investigating the case as well, and John here insisted that I came to ask you if you could help us.”

John nodded.

“You’re the new seeker.” Sherlock affirmed, directing himself to John.

“Yes. I was chosen at the try-outs today; with Trevor gone, they needed a new seeker and now I am on the team. I am not half as good as he was but…”

“It’s the broom.” Sherlock interrupted.

John, who had been staring at his own feet, looked up at Sherlock.

“What?”

“Your broom isn’t well adjusted. It’s a Radius Velox. The cable is probably a bit loose and I bet the bristles are not well adjusted. That’s the thing with those brooms, they are fast but if the bristles have different sizes you are going to feel it. You need to buy a broom kit and fix that.”

John’s mouth stood open and after a second he closed it, staring at Sherlock.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your knee has been giving you trouble. You were limping slightly when you came in. You probably thought it was due to this morning’s try-out and the practise that followed it, but it’s not. As soon as you fix that on the broom you’ll be able to fly better and with no injuries.”

“How can you possibly know that?” John asked, impressed.

“By your limp, your hands, and the mud on your shoes.” Sherlock explained.

John nodded. He had no idea how Sherlock could know he had a non-calibrated Radius Velox merely based on that, but he didn’t want to annoy him.

“We had a team meeting after I was accepted, and then we had a practise session in honour of Trevor.”

Sherlock didn’t understand how that could be of importance, so he nodded. He picked up his things.

“So, will you help us?”

John’s tone was almost pleading and there was something about the way he looked at Sherlock that made the latter shudder. He tried to get rid of the warmth he felt as John’s eyes seemed to look right through him and nodded his head.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

He paced towards the door, then stopped and turned to John. He walked back towards him and extended a hand.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He said.

John took his hand in his and while trying to shake the electric feeling, mumbled.

“Nice to meet you.”

Sherlock let John’s hand go and abandoned the Students’ Potions Room, his head in an unusual twirl.

Mike Stamford, watching John and Sherlock shake hands, smiled conspiratorially, recognising that he had probably created something where he had no intention to, and was not worried about it at all. In fact, when he saw John carrying his broom to the Gryffindor’s Common Room later that evening, in order to try to fix it, he felt quite proud of himself.


	6. Sherlock Is Afraid Of Flying

Over the following weeks there wasn’t much Sherlock could do. He was quite behind his homework and although he searched, all the clues he had collected at the Owlery seemed to lead to a dead-end. He could agree to help Lestrade and company, but he didn’t want to give up just yet, and he wasn’t entirely sure how much the blood sample would be of use in finding the murderer.

Once the Owlery was reopened he, John and Mike went there but, as Sherlock expected, there was nothing to find. The pulley system he had seen, the rope and the blood on the floor, had been removed – the counter-concealment charm he had used didn’t show anything this time but Sherlock knew that even before conjuring it; the teachers would not allow any vestiges of what had happed to remain there, not when the students were allowed in the Owlery again.

One day he was sitting at the lunch table with Molly, doing his Astronomy homework with difficulty. Molly would stop to help him out once in a while.

“Sherlock.”

She called his name, putting her quill down over the parchment; it was already 10” long and Molly wasn’t going to stop there.

“Sherlock, what are you doing? That’s all wrong.”

She flipped his parchment over and took a look at it. Blots of ink were spreading here and there and Sherlock’s fingers were all stained.

“Molly, seriously, I am doing the best I can.”

“No, you are not,” she said, starting to correct a few things. “You’ll need to re-write what I am correcting. And try to at least check your book before starting to write gibberish.”

Sherlock sighed. He looked up and John Watson and Mike Stamford were pacing towards them, John carrying his broom on his left hand. Lefty, Sherlock made a mental note. Interesting.

“Hey, Molly?”

Molly turned her head up to the sound of Mike’s voice.

“Hey, Mike, how’s it going?”

“Good. I was heading to the library and I was wondering if you’d like to come along.”

“The Earth revolves around the Sun, not the other way around.” it was John who, looking at the parchment on Molly’s hand, pointed out.

“I know,” Molly said, smiling. “This is Sherlock’s homework.”

“Oh.” John frowned. “You wrote it wrong, then?”

Sherlock looked at him and then at Molly. “No, I just didn’t know.”

“You don’t know that the Earth revolves around the Sun? We learn that at primary school.”

Sherlock stared at his hands, blushing to John’s words. Then, composing himself he raised his chin in defiance.

“I couldn’t care less about that. It’s not even what we are studying now.”

“But it’s the Solar System,” John insisted. “How can you not know?”

Sherlock gazed at John without blinking and John looked at his own feet, feeling awkward. Molly and Mike exchanged a look.

“Hum, so… Do you want to come along?” Mike inquired again.

“Yeah, sure. I am not doing much here anyway,” she said, rolling Sherlock’s parchment she pass it to him.

Sherlock grabbed it, pretending to be bothered by the ink on his hands but really just looking for something to do.

Molly and Mike left the Great Hall chatting animatedly, leaving Sherlock and John behind.

“Sorry,” John apologised.

“What for?”

Sherlock was not afraid to face him, to look him in the eye and ask the questions and John wasn’t sure if he liked that or not right now. Sherlock’s stare was intense and he felt like he was being read without permission.

“For… Well, the Solar System isn’t really important, I just found it strange that you didn’t know because everyone does and…”

“People don’t use their brains for what I do, not the way that I do.”

He made a pause and John waited for him to continue.

“I store things here,” Sherlock explained, pointing at his head. “Important things that I need. But it’s like a book; you can’t access information easily if it’s full of things you don’t need. So I delete what I don’t need.”

“And how can you do that?” John questioned. “How can you choose which subjects to delete and which to keep? I mean, I wish I could do that. I keep remembering stupid things on exams and when it comes to what really matters…”

“It takes training. And a genial mind. So maybe you shouldn’t waste your time trying.”

The words took John by surprise and he changed his weight from one foot to the other. They stood there, not looking at each other, an awkward silence.

“I am going to the Quidditch pitch.” John informed to break the silence, pointing at the broom.

Sherlock looked up as he spoke.

“You fixed the broom. You’re not limping anymore.”

“Yeah, I did. It was exactly what you said. It’s much better now.” He smiled, trying to make peace.

Sherlock was a stranger, and a rude one at that, but there was something about him that attracted John, like a magnetic field he couldn’t escape from.

“We have our first game in November and I need to train more than the others. Because it will be my first actual game.” Sherlock was waiting to see where his conversation was going. “So… Do you want to come along?”

John’s expression was expectant and it made Sherlock smile. He looked at his books on the table and then, crumpling his Astronomy parchment with his right hand he threw it all into his bag and got up, accepting John’s invitation.

“You’re going to regret that,” John said, referring to the parchment.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

“It needs a new beginning. And middle and end for that matter.”

And they walked together outside, Sherlock with his bag thrown over his shoulder and John carrying his broom, moving side by side.

*

The air at the Quidditch pitch was cold, despite the sun that shone shyly, waving behind scarce clouds. Sherlock was pacing from one side to the other, hands in his pockets, his grey and blue scarf tight against his neck.

John’s broom had been carefully placed on the ground whilst he had left to change into his Quidditch equipment. Sherlock heard hurried footsteps and turned around, blowing air to watch it freeze when in contact with the cold.

He stopped in his tracks, mouth open in an ‘O’ shape that he disguised immediately when he saw John dressed in his equipment. His heart started drumming in his ears all of a sudden. He clenched his jaw.

“Sorry it took so long...” John apologised, though he really hadn’t been long at all.

Sherlock shook his head. “No.” His voice came out hoarse and he cleared his throat. “No, you didn’t. It’s fine.”

John smiled, and Sherlock felt again that warmth inside his chest, despite the cold day.

“Okay, so, do you want to fly as well?”

The question took Sherlock by surprise.

“Me? Fly?”

“Hm, hm.” John nodded. “If you want to. Otherwise it will be a bit boring, just watching me.”

“No,” Sherlock said straight away. “It won’t. I don’t mind watching you.”

He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth but John didn’t seem to see any hidden meaning in them.

“I mean, you came here to train, I don’t want to be a hindrance to your practise.”

John scoffed. There was something in Sherlock’s tone that told John there was a different reason why he didn’t want to fly.

“Are you afraid of flying?” he asked.

Sherlock looked at him and pursed his lips.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, lowering his head and staring at his feet. “I never tried.”

John didn’t answer and the silence lasted for so long that Sherlock felt compelled to look up. John was smiling.

“I’ll teach you.”

It wasn’t a question, but a promise. He picked up his own broom.

“Okay, so first you have to learn how to pick up the broom…”

Sherlock held his open hands on front of himself. “No, wait, you don’t have to.”

“Come on. You can’t be afraid of flying. It’s fun; you don’t know how much you are missing. I promise you it will be fine. Such a great, genial mind can’t possibly doubt itself in such a trivial matter, can it?”

The mocking tone on John’s voice made Sherlock chuckle and make a decision.

“Fair enough,” he agreed.

He stepped forward, and if he was fair to himself he was shaking from the fear, but he would pretend it was from the cold.

John placed the broom on the ground by Sherlock’s right side and then stepped back.

“Okay,” John directed, looking amused. “Stick your right hand over the broom and say ‘Up!’”

Sherlock extended his hand and shouted, “Up!”

With a fluid but sharp movement, the broom left the ground and found its place on Sherlock’s hand.  Sherlock raised his eyebrows, in surprise.

“Wow, that was fast!” John congratulated him. “Now you’re going to have to mount it.”

“What’s going to happen once I mount it?” Sherlock’s voice was unsure. John laughed.

“Hopefully, nothing yet. Come on,” he incited.

Sherlock placed the broom between his legs and John came closer. He held Sherlock’s hand over the handle and the electrifying feeling returned. John pretended not to notice it.

“Hold steady here,” he instructed, placing Sherlock’s hands on the handle, as they should be. “And when you are ready, kick the ground.”

“What happens when I kick the ground?”

“You know very well what will happen when you kick the ground,” John said, moving away a few steps and staring at Sherlock. “You’ll fly!”

He laughed. Sherlock didn’t enjoy being laughed at. He kicked the ground.

Sherlock felt a pull as the broom sped up, leaving the ground faster than he expected. The cold wind stung his eyes and he tried to get a hold of the broom fast. He was flying in zig zag, so he held the handle tighter and tried to steer it. It worked. Suddenly, the broom stopped jerking and he was not going up anymore, he was flying forward. He looked down and John was just a blob on the ground and it hit him: he had no idea how to go down. He could hear John screaming down there but he couldn’t make out the words.

“…circles!”

That word was enough. He was going down in circles, instead of trying to dive into what could possibly become his own cause of death. He tried to lose altitude bit by bit and when he finally landed with a thump his legs gave in, the adrenaline kicking out of his system. It had been a short flight and he was happy with that.

John was laughing, walking in Sherlock’s direction. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded, but as he dismounted the broom he slid to the side, like a drunken sailor.

John placed one hand on each of his shoulders, steadying him.

“Now, that was a great flight!”

“Don’t mock me!” Sherlock complained, punching him in the arm in jest. He passed him the broom. “It’s your turn now.”

John complied, still amused, and grabbed his broom. He then took his left hand to his trousers’ pocket and removed something gold and shiny from there. A Golden Snitch.

“You do know the rules of Quidditch, don’t you? Or have you deleted them as well?”

The question was directed to Sherlock and he nodded.

“Yes. It’s quite valuable information since we only have six matches a year and absolutely everyone goes bonkers when it happens.” He smiled.

John placed the Snitch on Sherlock’s palm and then wrapped his fingers around it.

“Let me fly around the pitch a few times and then release it.”

He mounted the broom, kicked the ground and the broom elevated above Sherlock, gracefully. Then, with a twist, John disappeared into the Sun.

It didn’t take him long to catch the Snitch and every time he did so he would come down and give it to Sherlock again, and the game started over.

The sun had hidden behind a cloud when John gave Sherlock the Snitch for the last time.

“Here. Just this last one and then we’ll go inside. Are you sure you don’t want to fly again?”

Sherlock shook his head and John kicked the ground firmly, waving mockingly. Sherlock released the Snitch right after.

He watched John going around in circles for a while, rounding the goal posts a few times and then, mind-set, turn his broom to the right side of the pitch. Right at the end of it he made a swift turn and it looked as if he had caught something but, as he bent forwards, seemed to have lost control of the broom. It swirled in the air, round and round, falling to the ground. Sherlock waited but he saw no response from John. When the broom hit the floor heavily, Sherlock was already sprinting across the Quidditch pitch.

“John! John!”

The name echoed through the stadium, Sherlock’s baritone filled with concern. He almost dived into the ground next to John, removing the broom from under his body and shaking him.

“John! John, talk to me! John, please, open your eyes!”

John didn’t bulge.

“John!”

Sherlock’s voice was getting higher and higher and more perturbed. John giggled. Sherlock stopped shaking him and John opened his eyes.

“You totally fell for it.”

Sherlock let go of John and sat on the ground, jerking his head behind himself, exhaling with relief. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again to face John, John was sitting on the ground as well, shaking the sand from his clothes, laughing. Sherlock faced him, serious.

“You’re an idiot.” he got up, too angry to speak. John frowned, got up as well and picking up his broom he ran in chase of Sherlock.

“Sherlock, wait!” he called. “It was a joke, I’m sorry.”

But Sherlock didn’t stop to listen. John ran faster and reached him, jerking his arm and making Sherlock turn around to face him. John was panting.

“Sorry. I am sorry.”                                                                                                   

Sherlock clenched his fists. “I thought you were injured.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Bad joke,” he admitted. Then, with an expectant look, he asked, “Still friends?”

But Sherlock would never answer this. Because coming running from the castle was Molly, calling his name.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned to her.

“There’s been a break in in the Ancient Artefacts Room!”

That was enough to switch their attention. Sherlock and John exchanged looks and then followed Molly, who was already leading the way, knowing she wouldn’t have to wait for them.


	7. The Scroll

When Molly, Sherlock and John entered the Great Hall it seemed that all students were gathered there. There was a loud humming and they discussed, heads together, speculating what had just happened. This time, the teachers didn’t address them. The murder of a fellow student was an important affair, the break in at the Ancient Artefacts Room not so much, at least not in what concerned the school’s daily functions.

The Ancient Artefacts Room was normally used for research; students that wanted to know more about what they were taught at History of Magic classes would take tours there, and always with the supervision of Mr. Adair, the school’s caretaker. It wasn’t a secret room but since it contained important and valuable items, it was kept closed with advanced charms.

It had been Mr. Adair to give the alarm, transmitting the information to the Head Master, but as anything at Hogwarts, the news of the break in spread like fire. Molly and Mike were at the library when a Hufflepuff came storming in – leading to Mrs. Hudson forbidding him to come back to library until he calmed down a bit – shouting that someone had broken into the Ancient Artefacts Room and had stolen an item kept there. The ado began – much to Mrs. Hudson dismay – and books were kept in place and in less than five minutes all students had left the place and moved to the Great Hall.

Whatever had been stolen, it was important, because at least four classes – the classes taught by the Heads of the four houses – had been dismissed for the day.

The information provided didn’t offer much, though. The words Molly had uttered at the Quidditch pitch resumed pretty well all everyone knew.

Sherlock, after realising no one was going to give him any relevant information, was looking around, trying to get a glimpse of ‘The Yard.’ Lestrade and Anderson were sitting next to a group of Hufflepuffs but there was no sign of Sally. He stepped forward but was detained. John, still in his Quidditch equipment, was holding his sleeve.

“Where are you going?”

“Talk to Lestrade.” He said.

The afternoon incident was still lingering there, ready to be dealt with again, but Sherlock decided to drop it. It was not important, it had only been a joke and either way, he had more pressing things to take care of now.

John followed as he crossed the room and stopped in front of Lestrade.

“Where’s Sally?”

Sherlock knew that the only reason for her absence meant that she was onto something. Lestrade shook his head, already prepared to fight off Sherlock.

“She’s trying to talk with Professor Anguis, see if he tells her anything.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“A professor is not going to trust her with secret information.”

Lestrade didn’t answer. He looked ahead, and following her gaze Sherlock envisioned Sally’s curly hair amongst the mass of students. She frowned when she saw him but spoke to Lestrade either way.

“They won’t tell me much.” She admitted. “All I could get besides what we already knew is that the stolen item was an old scroll of parchment. He didn’t even tell me what it contained; he says that we should focus on our classes and that the Ministry will take care of solving this situation at the best of their capacities.”

“Not much hope, then.” Sherlock said, more to himself than to her.

She shrugged.

“He also said that the Ancient Artefacts Room will be reopening for students after tomorrow, and that we can go there by then, if we think it’s still worth it.”

Lestrade and Anderson nodded, synchronized. When Lestrade turned to speak to Sherlock, he was already out of hearing reach, with John at his heels.

*

This time it was Sherlock who kept looking at his watch, waiting for the minutes to pass by. Classes had never seemed so boring and that was saying much. By the time his first morning class was over, two days after the incident, Sherlock flew off his chair and was out of the door before the Professor could even reprimand him.

He walked steady along the corridors, barely noticing the students who passed him by. When he reached the Ancient Artefacts Room, Mr. Adair was bolting the key in the lock and was just raising his wand to proclaim the usual charms. He sighed when he saw Sherlock.

“You as well?” He asked.

He didn’t wait for an answer nor did he ask what Sherlock was doing there. During the entire morning students had walked in and out, wanting to see the place, just to be extremely disappointed by how it revealed nothing. He left Sherlock in and waited at the door. All other visits had been brief and he had no reason to believe this one wouldn’t be.

Sherlock paced quietly around the room. He had been there only once before, with Molly’s insistence. He looked around and then focused on something else; dust was eloquent, and he could see exactly the traces hands and sleeves had left on the furniture. There was no sign of anything being broken and he knew Mr. Adair would not tell him anything relevant, so he might as well save himself the trouble of asking.

He spent almost his entire break there, moving things to the side when he could, and looking through glass doors. He looked at the door of the room and Mr. Adair was staring at the students passing by, not paying him any attention. Sherlock realised it was worth trying what he had gone there to do.

The charm did not require for him to speak, but he was afraid it might reveal too much. Still, he had to take a chance.

_Exposui Expositum._

He looked around. Nothing, not a change in the room. He took a deep breath, half relief, half frustration. And that’s when he saw it. Spread across the floor, under an old, worn chest, a single streak of red string.

He heard Molly’s voice even before seeing her.

“I think my friend might be there.”

Mr. Adair walked into the room just as Sherlock was safeguarding the red string in his pocket.

“Okay, you’ve spent enough time here; I think you’ve seen all you had to see.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Sherlock was not being deliberately nice; he was still too focused on what he had found. He saw Molly at the entrance, murmuring some words and waving her wand. Mr. Adair stiffed all of a sudden, eyes fixed on Sherlock. Molly stepped into the room.

“What was stolen from here?” She asked.

“A scroll.”

“What contained the scroll?”

“An ancient charm.”

“Dangerous?”

“Very dangerous.”

“Dark magic?”

“Yes.”

“Which sort of dark magic?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see who stole it?”

“No.”

“Where you charmed at the time the scroll was stolen?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was the name of the charm on the scroll?”

“I don’t know.”

Molly looked at Sherlock and stepped back to the door. With a ‘swoosh’ of her hand and a new murmur, she freed Mr. Adair from the spell.

Mr. Adair blinked repeatedly and then looked at Sherlock.

“So, have you seen all you needed to see?”

Sherlock nodded and followed him outside the room. He and Molly exchanged a look and walked fast, without uttering a single word.  

*

The garden by the lake was always a good place to seek refuge. Some people liked to sit by it in the summer but in the winter it was not the most popular site. Molly and Sherlock walked in silence and then stopped, looking around, making sure they were alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were planning on going to the Ancient Artefacts Room?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“Sherlock, you have been investigating Victor Trevor’s case, do you really think I am that stupid? I knew you were going to want to sniff around the Ancient Artefacts Room.”

“Then there was really no need for me to tell you anything, was there?”

Molly scrapped the grass with the point of her shoe and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“As you saw right then, you may find things out a bit faster if you include me.”

Sherlock gazed at her, unsure of what to do. Molly was exceptionally clever when it came to charms, she was an exemplar student and her knowledge of potions beat him any day. He inhaled and finally nodded.

“Okay. I’ll let you in.”

Molly nodded and with a sigh asked.

“Did you find anything?”

Sherlock looked at her. He had agreed to let her in, so he might as well keep the promise. She had achieved as much as he had, not to mention that she had actually managed to successfully charm a member of the school staff.

“Yes, but I don’t want to show it to you here. We may be seen.”

The school bell went off.  Molly looked at the Castle.

“Let’s go to class.” She motioned with a hand and he followed. “We’ll stay in the Common Room tonight after dinner until everybody goes to sleep and you’ll tell me everything you have so far, agreed?”

Sherlock agreed. He had no other choice now and suddenly he questioned himself why hadn’t it occurred to him to ask for Molly’s help sooner.


	8. An Idle Research Leads To Other Plans

Molly extended a hand in front of her, demanding to see the red strings Sherlock had been hiding in his pocket all afternoon.

When school was finished they had spent time at the Common Room, pretending to concentrate on their homework together, but really too impatient to do anything at all. The Common Room got emptier and emptier, students walked in to finish their homework as well or just to have a chat with their friends, and when at last a girl from the seventh year went up the stairs with a yawn, Sherlock and Molly were left alone.

Molly closed her book straight away, but before talking she got up and checked the stairs of both dormitories, making sure there was nobody listening. When she sat down again, in front of Sherlock, he had removed a bit of folded parchment from his pocket and placed it on her extended hand.

Molly opened the improvised envelope carefully and placed it over her knees, picking one of the two pieces.

It was a strange string. At first glance it looked like a piece of wool, but the consistency was different and Molly felt a tingling at her fingertips when she touched it.

“Do you have any idea what it is?” Sherlock asked.

His voice was only a little louder than a whisper and Molly looked at him.

“I have never seen something like this before.” She admitted. “It’s… it feels elastic but it doesn’t stretch and it tingles.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Yes. And it shines in the dark as well, not very bright but a little bit.”

Molly examined the other string as well, with the same results.

“Where did you find it?” She inquired.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

“This,” He said, pointing at the one she was holding, that was shorter. “I found at the Ancient Artefacts Room this morning. This, at the Owlery, on the day Victor Trevor was killed.”

Molly frowned.

“You went to the Owlery while it was still off bounds?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Yes. I sneaked in during the night.”

“How did the teachers miss this?”

“It was concealed. I had to use a charm of un-concealment and then I found it.”

“And the teachers didn’t think about doing that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they did but it worked on something else, and then my charm did it for the strings.” He took the string from Molly’s hand. “This is magical, Molly. I looked all through my catalogues of ropes and I found nothing like this. Not Muggle, nor Wizard. I tried a few charms but it wouldn’t bulge, so I assume it must be very advanced magic.”

“What do you think it means?” She inquired. “Do you think someone left it there as a clue? And why would they?”

“Maybe it’s a remainder of another charm. Remember that Mr. Adair said, under your charm, that he had been charmed by whoever stole the scroll. And Victor Trevor, I still don’t know for sure, but I believe he might have been killed with a charm.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Gut instinct.”

“Didn’t you find anything else at the Owlery when you went there searching?”

“I did. The teachers had used a concealment spell to hide what was really there. There was some rudimentary pulley system and right at the place where I assume Victor Trevor’s head would have been there was blood on the floor. I collected it.”

Molly took a minute to get her thoughts straight.

“But then we need to find a way to see if the blood was cursed or not.”

Sherlock nodded. Yes, he knew that, but he didn’t want to help Lestrade and apart from Sally he had no one else who would be able to get him Cruor.

“Yes, we could do that, I suppose.”

“We don’t have access to a proper Potions Room. The students’ one is too limited, you need Cruor to have a reaction and I don’t know where we can possibly find that…”

“Sally could get us some.” Sherlock admitted, annoyed.

“Sally Donovan?” Molly inquired, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Then why don’t you ask her to get us some?”

“Because I don’t want to have to ask for Lestrade’s help.”

Molly looked at him for a moment. Then, blushing, she said lowly.

“He’s a nice guy.”

“How do you know?”

Molly didn’t answer. She changed the subject.

“Okay. Let’s work with what we have here for now, okay?”

She could insist with Sherlock to talk to Lestrade and Sally but it was late and Sherlock was too difficult. She would get back to it some other day.

“Tomorrow we are going to the library and check charms’ books. See if we can find anything like this.” She plotted out, pointing at the two red strings.

Sherlock acquiesced. Molly got up.

“I am going to bed; we will have a long afternoon tomorrow. I’ll ask Mike and John’s help as well.”

She turned around and disappeared beyond the stairs that led to the girls’ Dormitory. Sherlock kept the strings back in the parchment and sighed. John Watson. The afternoon at the Quidditch pitch seemed so long ago. He had forgotten completely to tell John he was forgiven.

*

They spent the whole of next day’s afternoon in the library, looking on any book Molly thought might contain something of the sort. It was rather a broad search, because they had never seen something like that before, and Mrs. Hudson looked at them, picking books from the shelves and then, after going through them, sometimes more thorough than others, placing them back on their places on the shelves in frustration.

Molly was taking notes and keeping record of the books they had gone through already and Sherlock got more and more restless as hours ticked by and people walked in and out of the library.

Once in a while John would suddenly get excited just to calm down again and he and Sherlock would exchange looks. John was still wary around Sherlock; he didn’t know what had led him to make such a stupid joke, except for the fact that he wanted to entertain Sherlock with a joke and he never though Sherlock might be so upset. He watched him surreptitiously. Molly was helping Mike find a specific volume he had come across a long time ago and thought it might be of use, and Sherlock passed his hands through his hair, ruffling it, and looked up. He met John’s eyes.

John blushed and sank back into his book.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock whispered.

John lifted his eyes again and Sherlock was facing him, dishevelled hair, arms and elbows on the table, a defeated expression.

“You don’t have to apologise.” John answered, in the same tone.

“Yes, I do.” Sherlock said. “I exaggerated. I didn’t mean to react like that but I thought you were injured.”

Sherlock’s eyes were so green with the light that sieved from the window creating different hues. John blushed again.  He nodded.

“It’s okay. It was a stupid joke anyway.” He answered in the same tone.

And Sherlock extended his right hand across the table, palm upturned, in a peace offer, and smiled.

John extended his own hand and touched Sherlock’s, and Sherlock squeezed it.

Molly made a great deal of dragging her chair and pretending she wasn’t looking at them when she returned to the table, and Mike tried to supress a grin, to no avail.

John straightened his back and for a while they got back to their research, stopping once in a while to exhale with exasperation.

By the time Mrs. Hudson came to interrupt their search warning them that the library was about to close, it was more a relieve than an annoyance. They were all tired and vexed, unable to find what they were looking for despite their efforts. They left the library together, pacing lazily side by side, hungry and defeated.

They sat at the Ravenclaw’s table together, ignoring the House separation and Mike left for a while just to come back with a tray full of food from dinner. There were many perks of having the Common Room next to the kitchen and being friendly to house-elves. They attacked the food with determination and no one spoke for a while. It was Molly who, feasted and full, spoke first.

“We looked through every possible book. Charms, old curses, strange artefacts, we ran our eyes through everything.”

The other three looked at her. Now that they could rest and were no longer hungry it was easy to put their thoughts and ideas together.

“There has to be a book that speaks of it.”

“It can be a new charm.” Mike pointed out.

“I doubt it. I mean, whoever did it must be a student here and from what I can tell that is advanced magic. I mean, if Sherlock can’t figure it out I don’t know who can. He is the cleverest person at this school.”

Sherlock frowned. He liked preaching his own geniality and capabilities, but he wasn’t good at dealing with compliments.

“Do you think a student killed Victor?” John asked, horrified.

“Of course.” Sherlock answered. “The school is well sealed with charms and security. And I bet the Ministry wasn’t able to find anything yet because this is advanced magic and no student should be able to perform it. Whoever did it left almost no clues; well, at least not obvious ones.”

John stared at him.

“What can we do now, then? We have nothing to go on.”

“Well…” Molly started but detained herself before speaking her thoughts out loud.

“What?” Sherlock inquired, intrigued.

“We didn’t try the Restricted Section.” She pointed out, matter-of-factly.

Sherlock raised his chin, smiling. Molly cut in his thoughts.

“No, forget it. We’ll never get a slip.”

“A slip?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, we need a paper slip from a teacher to get into the Restricted Section.”

“Not if you intend to break in.”

And Sherlock’s grin grew wider with the possibility.

“No, Sherlock, absolutely not. We are not going to risk being expelled for this. The Ministry is already on the lead and I am…”

“No.” Sherlock interrupted. “You won’t risk it. I will. On my own.”

Molly shook her head and Mike intervened.

“You can’t do that. It’s too dangerous. And Mrs. Hudson is always there either way.”

“Not at night.”

And as Sherlock uttered these words Molly, Mike and John stared at him.

“No!”

“Absolutely not!”

“That’s the most ridiculous idea…”

“Listen!” He interrupted, raising his voice.

A few heads turned in their direction and he faced the people who were staring until they felt compelled to turn away the gaze. Then, lowering his voice he turned to the other three.

“I am going to do this whether you like it or not.”

“We will tell on you.”

“Then what?” He asked Molly. “We got nothing to go on here. I know how to break into places, it will be fine.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“Then I am going with you.”

John’s voice sounded clear and determined. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John interposed.

“I can be as stubborn as you. So don’t even try to convince me not to. You’re either going with me or not going at all.”

Sherlock sighed. Then, he acquiesced.  And if he was honest to himself, he was quite happy to do so.


	9. The Night Of The Break In

They had agreed to meet at midnight. By that time, due to the imposed curfew schedule, students and school staff – including Professors and Mr. Adair - would most likely be sleeping and the chances of being caught, slimmer. They would wear their school uniform, which was dark, and lose the ties and anything of colour that could reveal their identities and put someone on their tracks. Molly had charmed Sherlock’s uniform to hide the Ravenclaw’s badge and Sherlock made a mental note to do the same to John’s.

He wasn’t afraid; if anything he was excited. There was nothing like the adrenalin of breaking in; the possibility of being caught mixed with the hope of avoiding it. Molly didn’t agree with any of this, but she would help him with everything she could. She made a list of things they should search whilst in the Restricted Section. They had settled on checking the books there, rather than stealing them, which would have been a lot more complicated since they would have had to break in again to return them. The books were heavy, and two students carrying them around the corridors at night was not a good choice. So they would remain in the library trying to find what they were looking for.

Sherlock went to bed before all the other boys. He didn’t want to remove his uniform and run the risk of waking them up getting dressed, so he got into bed – shoes and all – and closed the four poster curtains.

He stood alert for what seemed like a long time. Just like the day before, minutes seemed to drag at an infernal pace: tick tock, tick tock. Five minutes before midnight he sat on the bed and listened intently, trying to distinguish any sound that might reveal any of his room companions to be awake. Two of them were snoring; the other seemed to be breathing at a regular pace. He removed the blankets carefully and walked outside the room on tiptoes.

Molly was not waiting for him at the Common Room; they had agreed it was for the best like this. He would report to her the next day since there was no help she could provide at the moment. He walked through the hole in the wall and John, who had descended from the seventh floor to the fifth floor, was waiting for him, hiding in the shadows. They nodded silently at each other and walked steadily and noiselessly down the stairs.

The library was on the third floor and Sherlock stopped John after just a flight of stairs. He took his own wand and pronounced the same charm Molly had spelled to him to conceal the Gryffindor’s badge. John frowned but didn’t ask any questions. He followed Sherlock, looking around occasionally to make sure no one was around.

Breaking into the library should not have been as easy as it was. A simple ‘Alohomora’ was enough to make the door screech on its hinges and Sherlock locked it again after they had entered. Only then did he murmur ‘Lumos’ and made a gesture, inviting John to follow him.

The Restricted Section was at the far end of the library and didn’t offer any resistance; it was only closed by a rope. Sherlock crossed it easily by lifting his long legs over it. John tried to imitate him and lost his balance. Luckily, Sherlock was close and aware enough to hold him up before he crashed onto the floor. His warning look made John apologise silently. He composed himself and followed Sherlock.

They looked around. It was a strange world there, a bit different from what they were used to seeing outside the restricted area, where there were no prohibitions and reading books was more than welcomed. Here there were books with strange covers, weird volumes, some even chained to the shelves. Sherlock made a mental note not to touch those. If they were chained, there must be a good reason for it.  He pointed the lit wand at the books, reading the covers. Some of the volumes had titles gruesome enough to make him wish he had time to go through them without the risk of being caught; to read them at his leisure and without rushing. But alas, this was not the time for that and they had a mission.

Sherlock made a gesture towards John inciting him to look for books on the other side, and a moment later they were dragging books about dark magic and dangerous charms to the table, one by one. The one by one rule had been suggested by Mike; Mrs. Hudson would notice if any book had been misplaced and they might as well play it safe.

They stood together, shoulders touching, Sherlock’s wand illuminating the yellowed and worn pages, John’s delicate hands turning the pages carefully, reading the texts as fast as they could.,  They were trying to read it over without detail while also making sure they didn’t miss anything important.

They stood there, reading volume after volume for a long time. It was way past two when Sherlock consulted his watch, his legs stiff.

Sherlock could feel John’s hand touching him once in a while, the hair on his arms prickling up and he sighed, unable to stop himself. John looked up and his gaze held Sherlock’s for a while. Then, the tumult happened.

Across the room, next to the secretary Mrs. Hudson used to occupy, a kerosene lamp hung in the air, seemingly unsupported. Then, it crashed onto the ground.

The noise was thunderous. Sherlock closed the book they were checking with a heavy noise and put it in its place. He then grabbed John’s hand and started to run. They passed under the rope this time and sprinted for the door. But then John saw it. As the lamp crashed, the kerosene had spread and a small fire had kindled. He stopped in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock whispered, angry.

John faced him.

“We can’t let the library burn.”

Sherlock sighed but he followed John. John removed his cloak and Sherlock imitated him, and with a few strokes they were able to extinguish the fire. Then, they ran for their lives.

Sherlock pulled John by his sleeve, because John was going in the direction it was more likely for Mr. Adair to use. They would have to take the longer way, but it would be safer. Their feet pounded on the stone floor or at least Sherlock thought it was their feet; with the way his heart was beating in his ears, he might just be hearing that.

They didn’t look behind or stop. They reached the fifth floor faster than they ever thought possible. The eagle on the doorknob spoke.

“What’s full of holes but can still hold water?”

Sherlock grunted.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

But John was already thinking.

“A sponge!” he jabbered.

“Correct.”

The door opened to let them through. Sherlock followed John inside the Common Room, and they leaned onto the door, panting.

“That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever done.” John uttered.

And Sherlock laughed. Not a roaring laugh as he wanted, a contained one, because he knew they were not yet safe. He looked at John and John was laughing as well.

And then, it happened.

John let go of Sherlock’s sleeve and took both his hands to the collar of Sherlock’s shirt,. He pulled him down, and right there and then, he kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, and while Sherlock thought his heart had been throbbing from the adrenaline, it was nothing compared to now. He kissed Sherlock long and lovingly and his tongue was warm and tasted like mint. Sherlock’s brain stopped wondering and worrying, and he kissed him back with no questions at all.

“Sherlock, is that you?”

John let go, still close enough to kiss him again. He hovered there for a second and then with a smile he liberated Sherlock. John then placed his hand to the door.

“Ye-Yes!” Sherlock whispered, hearing Molly’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

But she was still far enough, so he kissed John briefly one more time and then grabbed his hand. He felt John’s fingers sliding against his as he left, before closing the door behind him.

Molly paced into the room, hair in a bun, and wearing a robe over her pyjamas.

“What happened?”

Sherlock, with a dried throat and roaring laughter longing to escape his chest, took a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you all tomorrow,” he promised.

Molly had no time to retort; Sherlock was already pacing up the stairs to his dormitory, and while Molly could not see it, he was wearing the biggest smile he had ever worn.

He didn’t sleep that night and the reason was not the hanging lamp in the Restricted Section which he had forgotten all about; the reason was John Watson. The reason, from that day on, would always be John Watson.

*

 Sebastian Moran walked into the Slytherin Common Room and took off his cloak.

“So, have you done it?”

He approached the other student sitting by the fireplace and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes. That should keep them off the Restricted Section for a while. Hopefully they got caught, but I didn’t stay there to see. Too risky.” He made a pause. “Did you conjure the mark there earlier on?”

 “Yes,” James answered, retrieving the wand Sebastian had used for the break in and was now returning it to its owner. “I hexed a student. Mrs. Hudson had a fit but I managed to avoid detention. I concealed the mark, as usual.”

“Mrs. Hudson is not going to give you biscuits for a while, though,” Sebastian mocked.

James Moriarty turned around and looked at him. Sebastian loved that mischievous look he always wore.

“You’re adorable, you know?” he said and Sebastian blushed.

“I am not adorable. I am manly and dangerous.”

James smiled. Then, he got up and got his lips close to Sebastian’s ear.

“That’s the good thing: you’re both. And that’s why I…”

“Don’t say it.” Sebastian beseeched. “You never have to say it.”

And he held James’ hand, interlacing his fingers in his.

“One day,” James said. “We’ll rule the world.”

And Sebastian didn’t doubt his words. He never doubted his words.

 


	10. Making A Deal And Interlacing Fingers

Sherlock was sitting at the far end of the breakfast table the next morning, Molly sitting in front of him, the food on his plate barely touched. They had woken up very early – Sherlock barely without sleeping – and Sherlock had narrated to Molly all about what had happened. For some reason, Sherlock didn’t seem to be giving as much importance to the fact that someone else might have been at the library the night before as he should.

“You didn’t see anyone else, then?”

“Molly I told you that ten times already. We saw a lamp hanging on its own, and then it fell to the ground and crashed.”

That wasn’t entirely truth; he hadn’t seen the lamp hanging, he was too busy looking at John, he had only heard it crashing onto the ground. But the assumptions were easy to make.

He fussed with his food, sticking his fork in it without eating it and when he lifted his head again John Watson was walking into the Great Hall, scratching his eyes. He stopped mid-yawn when he saw Sherlock and smiled. Sherlock smiled back and then, doing something he didn’t intend to, he blushed and stared at his plate, embarrassed. Molly wasn’t paying attention to any of this. She was looking through her books.

“I really have to catch up on my homework; I was unable to do anything yesterday in the afternoon.”

Sherlock nodded and the bell went off. He passed the Hall’s door and looked behind. John had followed him and rushed his step a little. And just before they split at the entrance, Sherlock to the outside of the Castle to Herbology and John up the stairs to Charms, he felt as John’s fingers touched his slightly and then let go.

Sherlock smiled as he saw him disappear amongst the mass of students. And it was that single touch what kept him awake throughout the morning.

*

By the time Sherlock and Molly walked down the stairs, having finished their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, it seemed that every single student knew about last night’s break in. Sherlock found John and Mike and the three of them moved outside. It was lunch time and they didn’t want to be overheard.

They walked in silence for a while and stopped by the lake. The Giant Squid was nowhere to be seen and Sherlock leaned against a tree, the other three facing him.

“So, what happened last night?”

Mike was the only one who had no clues about last night’s expedition. He didn’t want to join Ravenclaw’s at breakfast table for fear of raising suspicions and John had come down for breakfast too late.

John laid it out to him, and Molly listened intently as well, trying to find any discrepancy from Sherlock’s story that might give some clue away. There was nothing.

“That was a risk from the beginning.” Mike said, matter-of-factly, after John finished his narrative.

“We have to find a way to go there during the day. Hogwarts’ library is one of the most complete libraries in England; if we can’t find it there I really don’t know where to find it. If we could have access to it, the four of us, it would make things a lot easier.”

But Sherlock was not paying attention to what she was saying. He was staring ahead, looking at the three grim looking figures pacing determinedly towards them. He lifted his back from the tree trunk as they approached, and Molly, Mike and John looked behind themselves in unison.

Lestrade was encompassing the group, as always, and looking furious. Molly stepped from Sherlock’s front, leaving passage for Lestrade to face him.

Lestrade smiled at her and then addressed Sherlock.

“I thought we were supposed to do this together.” He said.

“Do what together?”

Sherlock liked to play stupid sometimes. It was fun.

“You know exactly what.” Lestrade had no time for his games. “I told you I could help you out. Listen, I am at an end here because I don’t have enough clues to go on, but you will find that a partnership with us will be quite useful.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. We haven’t spoken in weeks and now…”

Lestrade interrupted Sherlock’s speech.

“What were you looking for at the library last night?”

Molly, John and Mike exchanged looks. Sherlock remained silent.

“We are not stupid, Sherlock.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Where do you get that idea from?”

Sally intervened.

“There’s been a break in at the library last night. The teachers found nothing relevant and nothing was stolen. The only thing out of place was a broken kerosene lamp, but the fire that it might have started was put down. Still, they know someone broke into the library, and they want to find out who and why.”

“They have nothing to go on. Neither have you.”

Sherlock stepped forward, wishing to leave and ready to deflect Lestrade if he tried to stop him.

“Look,” Lestrade said, and he collected two paper slips from his pocket. “We got slips to the Restricted Section.”

Sherlock stopped on his tracks. He stared at Lestrade without a word and Lestrade took that chance to continue.

“We know you’d have no reason to break into the library unless you needed to check something at the Restricted Section, and I assume you haven’t found what we are looking for. We have access to it.”

Sally was fidgeting with Anderson who finally, after some effort, managed to slip something out of her pocket.

“Here,” He said. “We have Cruor as well.”

They all looked at Sherlock, waiting for a reaction.

“How did you manage to get those things?”

“We told you we have some connections, and there’s pretty much nothing Sally can’t get from Professor Anguis as long as she can convince her it is for study purposes, which Sally did. You’re better off trusting us.”

And as Sally snatched the Cruor from Anderson’s hands and kept it back in her pocket, Lestrade folded the authorization slips and stowed them carefully inside his Muggle moleskin notebook.

“In two weeks it’s the first Hogsmeade weekend. We can take the opportunity that pretty much everyone from the third year on is going there, so we’ll have most of the school to ourselves; the library and the Potions Room will be completely empty, and if we want to find anything, it’s best this way. Sally and Anderson are going to Hogsmeade to make sure nothing strange happens there without our knowledge, and we can work here. But I can’t help you if you don’t help me. You have half the clues; I have the means to turn them into evidence. You have two weeks to decide.”

And with that he nodded, as if agreeing with himself, and with a last smile directed to Molly, who blushed straight away, he turned on his heels and left, trailed by Sally and Anderson.

John was the first one to speak.

“He’s got a point.”

And Sherlock faced him. His eyes met John’s and John smiled, shyly, subtly. Sherlock, trying to speak loud enough to mask the sound his heart was making inside his chest, decided.

“Okay. We’ll work together.”

Molly sighed in relief and exchanged a smile with Mike.

“We need to focus on our classes now. With all this we have fallen behind, so I am glad we have two weeks until we need to focus on it again. Come on, let’s go eat something.”

And they all followed her into the Great Hall.

Sherlock couldn’t disagree with her more; he wished he could spring into action straight away.

He saw John falling behind Molly and Mike, to accompany him, pacing slowly by his side. He felt John’s hand touching his and Sherlock held it, intertwined fingers. And he realised he would probably have no difficulty in finding a way to keep himself amused until then.


	11. Busy Little Bees

The two weeks before the Hogsmeade weekend were filled with studying and plans. Sherlock had fallen farther behind on his homework than he wanted to admit to Molly, who always pestered him about the mistakes in his writing when he didn’t bother checking facts. But mostly she was too busy with her own work to bother with Sherlock, or even search for his company. A great majority of time he would see her with her bag packed with books and scrolls of parchment, rushing to the library. Mike was in the same situation as her. They would sit across from each other, making no remarks, just keeping each other company whilst studying.

It had given John and Sherlock time alone. After studying for a few hours and getting fed up with it, one of them would leave their common room and wait for the other, who would never take long to show up. Then they would leave the castle – with or without rain – and walk in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. When the weather was cold but nice, they would wander leisurely around the pitch, picking rocks from the ground and seeing who could throw them further away. If it was raining they would hide in the tunnels that circled the pitch underneath the stands, and kiss a lot.

It was not a secret love; there was no reason for it to be a secret love. But it was a first love for them both and they didn’t know exactly how to come out and declare it. They would not deny it if someone asked, but they would not mention it without being approached in that sense.

John liked words; he wrote poetry and hid it in between Sherlock’s books, or in his cloak’s pockets. Later on, when they met, Sherlock would say something to let him know he had gotten the memo. Sherlock was fond of gestures and John couldn’t feel happier than when they sat together, sand dirtying their clothes, and Sherlock pulled him to rest his head on his lap. He would play with John’s hair, and talk about new experiments, places he had seen and books he had read. John told him all about his childhood, his parents and sister; Sherlock would do the same, and they joked about matching Harriet and Mycroft up and how ridiculous the idea was.

When the day was ending and they had to return to the castle, Sherlock always placed his hand on John’s cheek, looking at him like that for a long time. Then, playing with John’s hair again, combing it against his temple, he would bend over and kiss him longingly, relishing in the electrifying feeling he had tried and failed to find an explanation for. John would feel warm all over, and know that that kiss would keep him going until they could sneak out to be together again.

When John had Quidditch practises, Sherlock would most often retire to his own Ravenclaw Tower, in order to not distract him. But John could see in the distance, standing by the window of Ravenclaw’s common room, a lonely figure, staring in his direction.

It was the best time of their lives.

*

The two weeks passed in a blur. After lunch on Saturday, Sherlock and Molly sat at the table in the Great Hall, waiting for the other students to head back to their dormitories to get things ready for that trip that afternoon. John, Mike and ‘The Yard’ approached them and sat at the Ravenclaw table as well. Lestrade looked around, making sure no one was paying attention to their conversation. He placed two slips in front of Sherlock.

“I have two permission slips so only two of us can go to the Restricted Section. I want Molly to go with me.”

Molly turned crimson, as she always did around Lestrade. Sherlock looked at her and then Lestrade.

“Why Molly?”

“Because Sally and Anderson are both going to Hogsmeade and she is my best bet. She has a reputation about researching methods and it’s a pretty good one. So, Molly is going with me.”

Sherlock acquiesced and Molly lowered her head, unable to face anyone.

“You can go to the Potions Room and sample the blood.” He extended a hand toward Sally, who dropped the same container they had showed Sherlock that day by the lake on Lestrade’s palm. Lestrade slid it across the table. “Here’s the Cruor. Use it wisely.”

“I’m taking John with me.” Sherlock said. “Unless you want to go to Hogsmeade?”

He turned to John when he asked, affection splayed across his face. John smiled, unable to stop himself.

“No, I’ll stay with you.”

Mike, Sally and Anderson exchanged a look. Mike spoke.

“I could go to Hogsmeade as well. I needed a few supplies and I can keep an eye out there as well.”

Sally turned to him.

“You’ll come with us then.”

“Very well,” Lestrade said. “You know what you have to do then. Molly and I are going to search the library for… What are we searching the library for?”

Sherlock laughed. With all that had been going on they had never discussed the reason for the break in. He slid his hand inside his pocket and removed one of the strings from the parchment.

“This. This is what you are looking for. Molly knows, so she’ll help you out. And here,” he added, “Is a list of all the books John and I had already searched before we were interrupted.”

“You kept a list?” John asked. “I didn’t see you write it back then.”

“I didn’t. I scribbled it this morning. I’ll explain later.” He wrapped the red sting inside the parchment and gave it to Molly. “Don’t lose it.”

Molly nodded.

“Are we set, then?” Lestrade asked.

They all got up, mumbling in agreement.

“We’ll meet up here once you return for the Halloween Feast,” he added, talking to the three who were leaving for the wizarding village, marking their meeting point for later.

Sherlock, John, Molly and Lestrade watched, as Sally, Anderson and Mike left the castle, following the professors assigned to accompany the students to Hogsmeade that day, before leaving together for the third floor. Molly and Lestrade disappeared into the library as John and Sherlock headed in the direction of the dungeons, into the Teachers’ Potions Room.

*

Standing in line to leave for Hogsmeade, James and Sebastian saw Sally, Anderson and Mike. Noticing the absence of the others, they exchanged a look. A group of students from the first year ran past them. Sebastian stopped the last one, holding him by his cloak.

“Watch,” he whispered to the terrified student.

He then removed a slingshot from his pocket and aimed. He placed a rock from the ground onto the elastic band and then released it. It hit one of the kids up front right in the back of his head. The first year student Sebastian had grabbed laughed, amusedly, and he handed him the slingshot.

“Make good use of it.”

And he and James shared a smile, watching the student disappear with a mischievous grin on his face. They wanted to create a legacy, and they were just getting started.


	12. And Something Strange Did Happen

Sally, Anderson and Mike walked steadily, their feet leaving footprints on the snow.

“So, where do you need to go?” Sally asked, looking at Mike.

“Nowhere specific, really. Just wherever you guys want to go, I’m fine.”

“I thought you said you needed to buy supplies?” She insisted.

Mike grinned.

“Not really, I just didn’t want to stay in school with… Well, I just wanted to leave the school for a bit.”

Sally looked at him from head to toe and nodded, crossing her arms because of the cold.

“Let’s just walk around. We are not sure to find anything here. Actually, I’d be appalled if we did, so let’s just do as we normally would.”

And they headed to the Honeydukes shop, pretending to be less excited about it than they actually were.

*

“How do you know all that stuff?” John asked, picking up a strange looking jar from one of the shelves. He looked at it sideways, trying to identify its nature.

“I like Potions.” Sherlock answered.

He had placed the sample of blood he had collected from Victor Trevor on a plate and was now carefully measuring the Cruor with the help of a small measuring cup. It was all used up and old, so it was hard to distinguish the measurements in some places. The Students’ Potions Room really was in need of some new material.

“Do you have any idea which career you want to pursue once you leave Hogwarts?” John asked, moving along the same shelf to see what else was there. He couldn’t understand how Sherlock liked that place so much, it gave him the creeps.

“No.” Sherlock answered, a bit absent minded.

After measuring the right amount of Cruor, he let a small drop fall over the blood sample and observed it reacting.

John, noticing what he was doing, approached him and for a moment they both stared at the blood, changing colour bit by bit. It went from its normal red to orange, then purple and then blue, then orange again. When it stopped it stayed bright red for a second and then turned pitch black.

Sherlock scoffed.

“I knew it.”

“What is it?” John asked.

“This was dark magic. Not just a charm.” He stared at John. “I am afraid Victor Trevor was being charmed even before his death.”

John looked at Sherlock and then followed his gaze to the small plate again. It was fuming.

*

Mike, Sally and Anderson spent the whole afternoon rummaging around the village, entering this and that shop, and trying to look for anything particular. All students seemed too excited for Sally’s taste and Anderson wondered if they would ever have a chance to be alone, what with Mike always on their trail. Not that he didn’t like Mike; he didn’t know him enough to decide that yet. But he and Sally had things to talk about and at school they always used to be around Lestrade the last couple of weeks. It was as if Sally was purposely avoiding him.

Mike pointed at The Three Broomsticks.

“Do you guys want to have some Butterbeer? Maybe we’ll know if something odd has been happening, god knows the stories they tell there.”

Sally and Anderson nodded and the latter opened the door and walked in. The environment was completely different there; warm, welcoming, cosy. Mike had forgotten how much he enjoyed coming to The Three Broomsticks.

They sat at a table and made small talk. About school, classes and mostly charms. Despite being in the same House, Anderson and Mike knew very little about each other and they engaged easily in conversation, whilst Sally sipped from her glass and interjected once in a while, when she had something to add to their conversation.

She interrupted them when she saw Professor Melis getting up to leave the pub. She looked at her watch.

“It’s almost time to go. We can have a last walk around before leaving and then head to the train.”

Anderson and Mike drained their glasses and got up, following Sally out of the bar.

They walked the length of Hogsmeade one more time, conversing again and looking around. When they reached the train, most students were already there, sitting by the station, excited about their purchases and trying to swap the collectible cards that came with the Chocolate Frogs.  That’s when they heard it.

Coming from across the village, near the place where the Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop was located, a loud booming came reverberating, and with it, a cloud of white smoke.

Sally was the first to respond. She moved the students that stood in her way and ran in the direction of the smoke.

The Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop’s windows were broken and the door broadly opened. Luckily, because Hogsmeade’s visit hours were ending and students were back to the train, only the works of the Quill Shop were there at the time and they were able to leave the place quickly. A white, thick smoke that looked like clouds came out of the building. Sally approached but Anderson stopped her.

“Careful. We don’t know what that is.”

She nodded and paced forward, followed by the other two. She knew Professors should be on their way there. They stepped into the shop.

At first glance it was difficult to see what was missing. Despite the fact that the windows were broken and the smoke filled the place, all the rest seemed to be in place. Counters, secretaries and even stationary that was exposed for the costumers were intact. She didn’t know the shop by heart, but it seemed exactly the same as the last time she remembered. Then, as she took a more attentive look around she saw what was missing. Quills. All the Quills that used to be for sale, with different colours and uses, were all amiss.

It didn’t make sense at all.

She was dragged by Anderson out of the room. The Professors were there and wanted all students back to the train immediately. Mike, Anderson and Sally looked around one last time before obliging and then looked at each other. Why on Earth would anyone want so many Quills for?

*

Molly met Sherlock at Ravenclaw’s Common Room. Sherlock was ready to hear about her afternoon’s research but the Common Room was already packed with students who had returned from Hogsmeade and were still exchanging sweets and chatting animatedly after an already full day. She nodded and walked up the stairs to put her things in her Dormitory.

“I’ll let you in on everything later.” She said, as soon as she came back and even before Sherlock had spoken.

“But…”

“Sherlock,” She interrupted. “It’s not a good idea to talk about it here. Let’s enjoy the feast, we already had a busy day, I need to _decompress_.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Okay, but did you find anything?”

She smiled.

“Yes. Yes we bloody did.”

Sherlock grinned and Molly grabbed his arm and they walked together to the Ravenclaw table. On their way they nodded at Lestrade, Mike and Anderson at the Hufflepuff table, at Sally at the Slytherin table and at John at the Gryffindor one, as if they all shared a secret code. None of their searches had been in vain.


	13. In Which Some Pieces Fit Together

Sunday dawned bright and sunny despite the cold. Students were seen outside the Castle, taking long walks or playing Quidditch and enjoying the out-of-season weather. Many fifth years were seen studying, laying on the grass with their books, preferring to wrap themselves in warm clothes rather than having to study in the library. O.W.L.s would take place two weeks before the end of the year, but teachers gave them so much homework that weekends were hardly enough to keep up with it and have all taken care of by Monday.

However, at least seven fifth year students were not focused on their studies right now. Last night’s feast lasted long and they had agreed to go to sleep and have a good night’s rest and meet up for breakfast the next morning. So they had a quick run by the breakfast table, grabbing whatever they wished to eat and then walked outside and sat under the tree by the lake. They were less likely to be heard there than at the Great Hall and students had more things to do than notice seven fifth year students having breakfast together.

“Okay,” Lestrade said, once they sat under the tree, eating cheerfully. “It appears that everyone has good news or at least news. Who starts?”

“There was a robbery at Hogsmeade.” Anderson interjected. “The whole school knows about it by now.”

Lestrade nodded.

“Let’s start there, then.”

Sally, Mike and Anderson related all that had happened the day before; the strange cloudy smoke, the disappearance of the quills and how little information they had. The teachers had made all students return to the train straight away and with everyone on board the trip back to Hogwarts ensued, without any of them being able to make questions. The Daily Prophet should have news on the next day about it, but there was nothing they could do for now. Asking teachers was a waste of time, they decided, because this was not connected with Hogwarts, it was Hogsmeade business.

Sherlock was impatient and almost made a fuss when Molly asked him about his research, because he wanted to hear what they knew about the red string, but when neither Molly nor Lestrade bulged – more to make him furious than anything else – he complied.

“Well, Victor Trevor was being charmed. I am not sure he was killed with magic, though; most likely, from what we saw at the Owlery – and he pointed at himself, Lestrade, Anderson and Sally – magic was not used in the actual death.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked.

“I mean…” The subject was a bit gruesome and Sherlock spilled it at once. “There was a rope hanging from the ceiling, a rudimentary pulley system. The rope was of Muggle fabrication, and I don’t know any wizarding artefact that looks remotely like that. There was blood on the floor, as you all know, and from the way I imagine Victor must have been hanged I can only deduced they  cut his throat.”

Everyone seemed nauseated by the thought and they stared at Sherlock in silence for a moment, unwillingly imagining such atrocity.

“So, the crime was perpetrated by hand and obviously, since I didn’t see Victor Trevor’s body, I don’t know exactly how. But his blood contained a lasting curse. Which means he was not killed in his last moments with magic; he was cursed and he was dying of that. It was pretty clear on the reaction I had with his blood and Cruor.”

“So,” Lestrade asked. “You mean someone cursed him, and they were killing him like that, but then decided it was taking too long and just murdered him?”

“I am not sure they ever intended to let him live until the curse killed him by itself. I think that whoever did this was experimenting and then, maybe Victor confronted them with it and they knew they had to get rid of him. Or maybe they wanted to get rid of him from the beginning and took the chance to try out the curse before doing it.”

“But, how? I mean, wouldn’t anyone notice if he was being charmed? Wouldn’t he notice?”

“Depends on the charm. But most likely Victor could go on like that ordinarily and then one day, when the curse took over his body, just die as if he had been cursed that very moment.  Or he may have started to feel sick, or even faint before the curse was irreversible. There are many types of magic and I can’t know which one was used with him.”

They looked at each other. What a horrible thing to do; they just imagined Victor Trevor, healthy, without even realising he had been cursed.

“Wait, but how could he have been charmed like that? I mean, how can you charm someone over time like that? Wouldn’t the person feel?”

“Well, there are many options.”

This time it was Molly who responded and they focused their attention on her. Sherlock nodded as she looked at him, urging her to continue.

“Even if he felt as he was being cursed, they could have used a memory changing charm. Or they could have put him under the _Imperius_ curse and have no one realising it, though I find it very unlikely, if we are almost certain it was a student who cursed him. Both the _Imperius_ curse as the _Obliviate_ charm are very advanced magic. Another way to do it is to curse something he would wear or use often. That would do the trick a lot better and no one would notice either. Not even Victor himself. What really isn’t fitting well here is why they killed him off in the end. So, maybe Victor did realise something. Maybe the curse was affecting him in any way.”

“Did he have enemies?” Sally asked.

It was John who answered.

“Not that I am aware of. He was usually friendly. Everyone on the Quidditch team liked him and we used to hang around once in a while.  I never heard of him getting into fights with anyone, to be honest. “

Sherlock waited for John to finish speaking and then faced Molly.

“Now it’s your turn. What did you find?”

Molly and Lestrade exchanged smiles and Molly started. She removed a paper from her pocket and began to narrate what they had found the day before at the Restricted Section.

“The red string you found is a mark.”

“A mark?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“Yes. Its name is Digiti Signum; It’s dark magic, it’s very old and rarely mentioned. When someone wants to leave a mark somewhere they conjure a charm.” Molly looked into the parchment. “The charm is ‘infigo’ and it’s very advanced magic. Basically it creates a fingerprint, with the person conjuring it being the holder. The mark by itself is not very important. What’s important is that the more marks you have in a place, the more powerful you become in that place, making your magic much more effective. But, the more marks you have spread about, the more you can become more powerful in more places. You have to perform some act to leave the mark: the first string is big, because it was created with Victor’s death; the second smaller, because it was created with the theft of the scroll, which is a much smaller act.”

Sherlock frown was still there as he made the question.

“Can you destroy the marks? I mean, can we destroy the marks and their power by destroying the red string?”

“It is not destroyable, but erasable, yes. There’s a charm _‘Deleo’_ but it is apparently highly difficult to learn and I didn’t find any reference with techniques to learn it on any book.”

“But why would you want to leave those marks? What for?”

Molly sighed.

“Sherlock, if anyone is planning on taking on the school, they’d have to fight it off. The more marks you have at school, the more powerful you become in that place, because it ‘recognises’ you. This is very old and very secret magic. I only found a small chapter about it.”

Sherlock thought about the weight of her words.

“So you think someone is going to attack Hogwarts?”

Molly was not used to be the one to answer those questions, even less made by Sherlock.

“I think that someone is planning something in that sense, yes. Basically the place where you leave the marks recognises you, and it gives you more power. I don’t know in which sense exactly, but I suppose it makes your magic more powerful.”

“Like if you had to fight off some of the most powerful wizards.”

Molly nodded, and she and Sherlock shared a look.

“We have to go back to the library.” Sherlock said, staring now at the ground, thinking.

“Why?” Lestrade asked.

“Because someone broke into the library the night John and I did and they may have left a mark there as well.” He said. “And we need to go to Hogsmeade as well.”

“Do you think they might have left a mark there? I mean, shouldn’t they be focusing on one place alone?”

“I would think so, yes.” explained Sherlock, answering Sally’s question. ‘”But it’s a very big coincidence after all this happened; the murder, the robbery at the Ancient Artefacts Room, the lamp at the library and now Hogsmeade. We should treat this as related incidents.”

And then a thought strike him.

“You said,” He said, pointing at Sally. “That they stole all quills in Hogsmeade. Of course!”

He let the words out with a gasp as the idea took a clearer form.

“What is it, Sherlock?” John asked, grabbing his arm.

“They are going to curse students.”

And his words clicked in the mind of the others and it did make sense. All students needed quills; the school had a supply as well. There was no easy way to do it, if you wanted to fill the school with cursed objects, than quills. Sherlock got up.

“We have to check all quills at school. New quills have to be thrown away. We have to talk to students; if anyone was offered a quill they have to throw it away.”

“But if they have new quills wouldn’t they be cursed already?” Mike asked.

“If they are using objects to curse people, it takes time. The longer they are exposed to the objects, the more powerful the charm becomes, until it’s too late. If removed in time – and the quills were just robbed yesterday – the curse can’t be yet too powerful, so hopefully they will still be fine. As long as the object is removed in time they’ll be okay. If they’d been exposed for long, there are usually antidotes, but we’ll need teachers for that and I am not even sure they would believe anything of this without an actual proof. Plus, we’d get into a lot of problems if they had any idea what we all have been up to. So let’s hope we can at least avoid any more deaths until we figure who is behind this.” He paused. “Although, if we could get our hands into someone who had been cursed and died of it that might help a bit…”

“Sherlock.” John interjected. “No research is worth a dead student.”

And Sherlock got out of his maniac trance and acquiesced.

“Get to work all of you. Talk to students, ask but try to sound inconspicuous about it. We don’t want whoever is doing this to know we are on their trail.”

They all got up and mumbled an agreement.

“John and I are going to the library; I want to see if we find more of… hum…”

“Digiti Signum.” Molly reminded him.

“That. You split up. Ask Mr. Adair if he has received any new shipment of quills and go around and ask if anyone has received any new quills from someone or picked them from somewhere. Check classrooms as well, the quills might have been replaced. We’ll check for that at the library as well. Last night was the Halloween feast; everyone was at the Great Hall so I wouldn’t be surprised if they did what they planned already inconspicuously.”

“You do realise it is more likely that they just actually replaced the quills from classrooms and so on, rather than calling attention to that and give students new quills. I mean, if anyone asked, as we are about to do, that would put them in their track. That’s a bit of an amateur job.” John pointed out.

“Then let’s hope they made an amateur mistake of the sort. That’s all we can do for now.” Sherlock answered.

And with a last nod at the others he and John walked into the Castle, followed by the others.

 


	14. A Memory Trapped in Sherlock's Mind Palace

The morning search took a long time and they met quite late for lunch at the Great Hall.

Asking the students about the quills had been of no use; no one had been given a quill in the last few hours and there were so many students at the school that they were unable to talk to everyone. Mr. Adair found the question strange but willingly showed them the quills he always kept. They were still inside the same boxes they had come in from the Hogsmeade shop. The same boxes and the same quills Mr. Adair remembered.

Sherlock and John’s exploration had been a bit more risky but more rewarding. After Sherlock conjured non-verbally the un-concealment charm whilst browsing through the books, John found a red string, right at the spot where he could still see the mark the burnt lamp had made. Then, they had asked the students still at the library – who weren’t many – about their quills and finally questioned Mrs. Hudson about the ones she kept in a drawer and on top of her secretary for any student in need. No change.

Sherlock was frustrated. He was expecting at least a student to reveal that, yes, he had been offered a quill.

“I guess we’ll have to wait,” Lestrade said, attacking a chipolata. Late lunch had been courtesy of Mike again, after a chat with the house-elves. “Maybe they found it risky to give quills at school the day after Hogsmeade was robbed. I mean, the Daily Prophet only comes out tomorrow but by then anyone could have made the connection. Maybe they are letting things cool down a bit, and when everyone has forgotten it, they’ll take action.”

“The problem is that now we have nothing to go on,” Anderson said. “We can’t do anything with the mark. We can’t do anything about Hogsmeade and we still don’t know why they killed Victor Trevor.”

“I managed to sneak out a quill from Mr. Adair,” Mike said, “But I don’t even know where to start to check for curses. I mean, there are a few simple charms but I doubt that whoever left the marks would settle for a simple charm.”

“Also,” Sally said, “We don’t know what exactly was robbed from the Ancient Artefacts Room.”

“We know it was a curse,” Molly said, and they stared at her. “I queried Mr. Adair, under the Incipit charm.”

“You can perform the Incipit charm?” Lestrade asked, as he stopped eating and looked at Molly in awe.

Molly became flustered.

“Yes. I’ve been working on a few advanced charms, but that’s just a seventh year charm, so it’s not so remarkable.”

“It is very remarkable.”

Lestrade looked at her with such an expression of adoration and admiration on his face that the others felt the urge to look away. It was as if they were spying on an intimate moment they shouldn’t be.

“Anyway,” Molly continued, feeling her cheeks warm. “He told us that it was dark magic and dangerous, but that’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“You burn the haystack.” Sherlock mumbled.

His voice resonated, low and serious.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“If you have a needle in a haystack you burn the haystack. We will have to go through every curse, but we do have something to help us find out exactly what we need.”

“What do we have?” Lestrade asked.

“We have an idea of what they might be trying to do. So I’d focus on charms that are related to cursing objects,  but on a large scale.”

Sally detected something in his tone and looked at him.

“What do you think they are planning exactly?”

Sherlock stared across the table at her and then looked at the others, one by one.

“I think they might want to set a curse on the Castle itself.”

A silence fell on the table, each of them feeling the weight of Sherlock’s words.

“No,” Molly said. “They wouldn’t. Kill everyone? Why?”

Sherlock grinned.

“Fun.”

“Sherlock, that’s an awful thing to say!” She replied. Sometimes Sherlock scared her.

“Molly, you’ve read enough stories to know that some people do things simply because they can; because they want to know if they are capable of it. They decapitated Victor Trevor and let him hanging there, for anyone to see. I don’t think they are worried about the casualties.”

“What if they are also leaving marks in Hogsmeade?”

“We’ll have to wait for the next weekend trip to Hogsmeade to find out.” Mike interjected.

John observed Sherlock.

“No.” He said.

Sherlock stared at him, frowning.

“You are not going to sneak out to Hogsmeade without authorization. We’ll wait. We need you and if you get detention or if you get expelled, we’ll lose you. We’ll wait.” John repeated.

Sherlock thought about contradicting him but it was John and, indeed, he was right. He would not be of much use to them if he got into trouble. They would wait.

*

James walked into the room, cursing and shaking his clothes.

“That bloody tree hit me again!” He complained

Sebastian laughed.

“Did you use the slingshot?”

“Of course I used the slingshot. My aim is not as good as yours, if you haven’t noticed yet. That’s why I still keep you around.”

Sebastian knew he didn’t mean it. Angry James always made him laugh.

“Calm down,” he said, rubbing James’ shoulder with his hand. “It’s just a stupid tree.”

“It’s homicidal.”

“You should like it then.”

“Not if it’s trying to kill me. Whomping Willow. Sounds like a stupid name but describes it quite accurately.”

“And it keeps people away.,” Sebastian noted, walking away from him.

James looked around. It was lucky that they had found that place. The Shrieking Shack was grim, old and dirty, but abandoned. It served their purposes just right. He and Sebastian had managed to give it some organization, though. They had used old pieces of wood to create aesthetically unpleasant but handy shelves. There stood books they had stolen from the library and others they had found in old bookshops at Diagon Alley. The subject matters of the books were mostly about dark magic and dangerous curses. At the moment, on the floor, in boxes, were thousands of brand new quills.

James walked over to the shelf, and picked up the book that held the parchment they had stolen from the Ancient Artefacts Room. It was their most treasured possession at the moment.

“Do you think it will work?” Sebastian said, approaching James from behind and placing his chin on his shoulder.

“We have time to practise the charm we have been using in other things for now,” he answered, leaning in so that his temple touched Sebastian’s. “And once we’re ready we’ll try this one.”

“We better start then,” Sebastian said, looking at the quills. “We have to charm them one by one; we have a whole lot of work.”

James put the parchment inside the book, closed it and replaced it on the shelf. Then he turned around and faced Sebastian. He placed both his hands on Sebastian’s face.

“If it fails, will I still have you?”

Sebastian frowned.

“What do you mean? We are both in this. Together.”

But James shook his head.

“No. If it all fails, they will only be able to track it back to me and I’ll take the blame.”

Sebastian removed James’ hands from his face.

“No,” he said, dried throat. “If this fails we both take the blame.”

“No,” James insisted. “I need someone on the outside, working for me. Just like last time.”

“I won’t do that, Jim.”

Sebastian turned around, facing the door.

“Seb,” James’ voice was calm, caring, “If it goes wrong, I need you making sure I escape, working from the outside, for me. Do you understand? You made a vow; I don’t expect you to break it. I have no one else. ”

Every word was punctuated. Sebastian was silent for a while. Then he turned around.

“Yes,” he answered and he could feel his voice cracking and he hated it. “If it all fails, you’ll still have me.”

James approached him. He wanted to say the words but he knew Sebastian despised them, so he just held him tight.

Sebastian held him back, and as his chin fell against James’ neck he whispered, for the first time ever.

“I love you.”

James smiled. He didn’t have anyone else; he didn’t need anyone else.

“I love you too,” he said, because he knew now he could say it. “Now let’s curse these quills. It’s the prologue of the fun.”

And they sat on the floor working together, charming the quills one by one.

*

Sherlock woke up screaming;, or at least in his dream he was screaming. He sat on his bed, gasping and looked around, trying to situate himself. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He wasn’t really sure what he was dreaming about,; pieces of the dream were scattered in his mind without making sense. There were a few words and that feeling of urgency that he always had when he knew his mind was trying to make him remember something important. He wished John would be there and he stared at the piece of parchment he had charmed to speak with John when they were separated. There was no use using it now, John was asleep, and he wouldn’t see the writing before morning. Sherlock decided to focus instead.

He got up and had a glass of water and went down the stairs to the Common Room. He sat by the fireplace and then, putting both his hands to his temples, he tried to access his own Mind Palace. The feeling of dread made it more difficult but he persisted. It was not yet fully developed but he knew there was some information he had to access, and that’s what his mind was trying to tell him.

He walked in slowly, touching the shelves as he always did when he entered the place. He took the same way as always. He could see how John had affected it. There were places as well as things that were not there before, like a golden snitch. When he looked out of the window he saw the lake. ‘Focus,’ he thought. Images started to come to him, along with scattered words and sounds. He walked between them a bit more at ease, now that he was in a place he recognised. They didn’t bring anything new but he pressed on. He saw a flash of light. Letters. Old letters. Letters from a newspaper. Ink. Black, old ink. Black and white moving images, out of focus. Then, it hit him like a bolt of lightening and he saw it. It was just a title from a newspaper. It was a Muggle newspaper and he couldn’t see the now unmoving picture that accompanied the text properly. Somehow, this reminded him of Mycroft. He tried to read the text. Too difficult. He tried the headline. ‘Student expelled after injuring fellow student.”

Sherlock opened his eyes for a moment. He thought about the headline and tried to remember anything. He remembered one day, when he was eight years old. Mycroft was only fifteen years old but devoured newspapers with grown up enthusiasm. That day he had brought two newspapers with him to show his parents: one was the Daily Prophet, the other a Muggle newspaper. Both of them had the same story, but the Muggle one had a slightly altered version and Mycroft was pointing that out.

Sherlock focused again. He had seen the newspapers, if only briefly, so he knew he could find the information he needed, though he had no idea yet why it was relevant. He closed his eyes again.

The text started to take shape bit by bit.

‘A student was expelled today after injuring a colleague. Having hanged his colleague by the feet with the help of a pulley to a tree, he then decided to perform a charm. Luckily, his knowledge of magic did not allow the other student to be seriously injured and healers at St. Mungos have reported that the student’s health has been stabilized. The student guilty of this atrocity was yielding a stolen wand, was expelled and measures will be taken.”

Sherlock opened his eyes. The report given by the Daily Prophet didn’t offer any more details and Sherlock was almost sure that the Muggle newspaper would not provide more than that. If anything, the information would have been filtered. Sherlock remembered that the incident had happened in a Muggle school and that the expelled student was about his age, because his brother made sure to point it out as much as possible.

The meaning of that thought hit him straight away. He tried to access the picture on the newspaper again. Nothing. He opened his eyes in frustration then tried again. Letters floated across his field of vision and then the image became clear. There, hanging from the tree was a rope, held by a pulley system, and when Sherlock opened his eyes again he knew exactly where he had seen something like that before.


	15. The Woman

Sherlock woke up very early and was the first one to leave the Common Room the next morning. He strode down the stairs almost running just to get frustrated upon entering the Great Hall. He needed to see Sally but at the Slytherin table were only four students having breakfast and there was no sign of her. He could try to find Slytherin’s Common Room, by the dungeons, but he was almost certain that Sally would come up for breakfast, so there was really no use. He waited.

By the time Sally appeared on the stairs, yawning and fixing the strap of her bag, Sherlock jumped in front of her.

“Sherlock!” She shouted, taking a hand to her chest. “You scared me; don’t ever do that again!”

He grabbed her arm.

“You know Irene Adler, right? She’s in Slytherin, like you.”

Sally looked pointedly at the way Sherlock was holding her arm and he let go, embarrassed. She spoke.

“Yes, I do know her. Why?”

“I need you to talk to her.”

Sally frowned. “Why?”

Sherlock looked around and then answered.

“I need to have access to a few newspapers and she writes for the school newspaper. The Woman. That’s her pseudonym on the newspaper, right?”

“Is this for the case we are dealing with?”

“No, I suddenly developed a love for the press. Of course it is.” Sherlock retorted.

“I’ll talk to her.” Sally agreed. “What exactly do you need?”

Sherlock explained Sally the details he needed. Then, as the corridors began to fill with sleepy students walking towards the Great Hall, they walked in the same direction, each to the table of their House.

Sally sighed. Sherlock had no idea the favour he had just asked of her.

*

Sally left the Slytherin Common Room in the afternoon. She would have to attend Astronomy, but only later on and she had been unable to eat lunch. She had promised Sherlock she would do this and she was not one to break promises. Plus, despite the fact that Sherlock hadn’t been very detailed, Sally knew this was important.

She walked up the stairs to the third floor. Just like the library and the Students’ Potions Room, the school’s Newspaper Office was on the third floor. She knew she would find Irene there; it was where people could find her most of the time, unless she was in class, eating, sleeping or gathering stories for the newspaper itself.

‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ was the name of the news entity that reported all the relevant school information. It had been created two years before Sally’s first year at Hogwarts. Basically, it covered important things like Quidditch games and Hogsmeade weekends, to things as mundane as the points gathered so far by each House or study tips. It was a fortnightly newspaper and any student could subscribe for just five sickles a month. Not all students did, but those who did were enough to keep the newspaper going. Irene was the co-director of the newspaper and only three more students besides her were part of the team: the director, a journalist like her and a photographer. Taking in consideration that it was an amateur job and the money they made from the subscriptions was only enough to pay for the parchment and ink, they did a pretty good job.

Irene had an eye for the news. With two journalists as parents, she was used to the press. She checked sources along with both sides of the story and she didn’t allow lies. She did  a better job than many actual newspapers, like the Daily Prophet. That was one of the many reasons why Sally admired her.

Sally took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the office, which held a big banner with the words ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ in a spidery handwriting. Sally heard what she assumed were Irene’s footsteps on the other side and then the door opened.

Irene stood at the entry, holding the door and staring at Sally. For a moment she seemed taken aback; but this was Irene and the recovery was quick.

“Sally. What a wonderful surprise.”

Sally swallowed.

“Are you alone?” She asked.

Irene nodded and then stood out of the way, giving Sally room to cross the threshold.

“Come in.”

Sally stepped into the room. The environment was different, but pleasant. It smelled of parchment, ink and roses. The roses were a touch Irene added.

“Sit down.” Irene invited, grabbing a chair and placing it in front of hers. No secretary in the middle, because she and Sally were way past that.

Sally thanked her, sat down, and watched as Irene sat in front of her, crossing her slim legs. She was wearing a white fitted dress, ignoring completely the school’s dress code. Irene used to do that and would be reprimanded, but she never cared.

“You look well,” Irene said. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”

Sally nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I am sorry, I…”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Irene interrupted. “I didn’t look for you either, so no one’s to blame.”

Sally nodded again. They used to have so much to say to each other, and now it seemed that her throat was closing.

“How’s Anderson?” Irene asked, picking a piece of parchment and pretending she wasn’t really paying attention.

“He’s okay.”

“Are you two still…?”

“We were never anything,” Sally said, getting up. “Not really.”

She liked the old, dark furniture that filled the room and she let her fingers run through a bit of parchment.

“I have a favour to ask of you.” She said finally, remembering the real reason she had gone there.

“Anything.”

When Irene answered the voice came much closer than Sally expected. She turned around and Irene was staring at her, close to her. Not close enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to invade Sally’s personal space.

“I need a few newspapers. It’s for research.”

Irene laughed and stepped back a little.

“You’re still working with Lestrade and his Scotland Yard clique?”

“It’s not a clique and it’s not to be made fun of. We have figured out enough mysteries by now for you to take us seriously. Actually, you have reported on them yourself in the newspaper so that should be enough to make you stop making fun of us.”

Irene raised her hands in front of her chest, turning her palms towards Sally.

“Apologies,” she said. Then she changed the subject. “What newspapers do you need?”

“Well, quite a few. You have an archive, right?”

“Yes. There’s a copy of every newspaper we ever released here.”

Sally nodded.

“I need all newspapers since I got into Hogwarts, specifically since that year.”

“All of them?” Irene asked, astonished. “You do realise that the newspaper comes out every two weeks, right?”

“Yes, I do realise that, but we need them.”

“Okay, but I can’t just lend you the newspapers. They’re old and they never leave the room. You can come here for research if you want.”

Sally knew that would please Irene, and she hated how much it pleased her and how much she didn’t want it to.

“Fair enough. Do you think you can gather them for us?”

“They are labelled by date, so it should be easy to do. A lot of work, but easy.”

“What about Charles? Do you think he’ll make a fuss?”

Charles Augustus Milverton was the other newspaper director and it was known he and Irene clashed, but endured working together because they were the best.

“Charles barely comes here. He prefers field work; he doesn’t really get his hands dirty on ink, so there should be no problem. If it’s secrecy you seek, secrecy you’ll have.”

Sally looked around the room one more time.

“There’s something else I needed but I am not sure you can help,” Irene waited. “It’s from 6 January 1985; A Daily Prophet.”

Irene seemed amused.

“I wonder what research you’re doing,” but she was not waiting for an answer. “I’ll talk to my parents and do my best. So, you can be sure I’ll get it.”

Sally crossed her arms in front of her.

“Thank you.”

Irene held her gaze and approached, only slightly.

“I miss you.”

The words came out in a whisper and Sally swallowed, looking down.

“Please, Irene.”

Then she inhaled and spoke.

“We would never make each other happy.”

“We have made each other very happy, before you decided to go out with that…”

“Don’t.,” Sally stopped her, facing her now. “Anderson had nothing to do with it, and you know it. He helped me when it ended, if anything, and I just found myself taking advantage of that. I am not proud; I do like Anderson, just not exactly like that. Nothing special happened between us, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t. It’s none of my business.” Irene retorted.

“It bloody isn’t.”

Sally could have let the subject drop, but the words were there, ready to be said.

“You know very well why it ended; why I ended it. And I wish I could change that, but I can’t. I don’t agree with your way of doing things.”

“Sally,” Irene said, and Sally loved the way her name sounded when she said it. “If you don’t have ambition you can’t get very far in life.”

“I have ambition but I have my limits.” Sally retorted, starting to become angry.

“Well, I don’t,” Irene said. “If looks is what I need to use to get the information I want, that’s what I’ll do. I work as a freelance and the Daily Prophet already told me I have a guaranteed place there. My parents have been working their whole lives for inglorious newspapers in order to keep an unimportant magazine and I, who am still a student, snatched the Daily Prophet.  I am proud of that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t because your means to achieve things are not very respectful.”

“I respect myself, and that’s all I need. I agree with what I do, I am clever and I use that to get exactly what I want.”

“Except me.”

Sally spit the words, filled with anger. Irene seemed to vacillate for a moment, struck by the words.

“Yes,” she agreed, a soft tone in her voice now. “Except you.”

Sally reconsidered her words and approached Irene. She lifted a hand and reached out, touching Irene’s arm.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

Irene took a step forward and hugged her.

“No,” she said. “I am, but I can’t change who I am.”

Ad Sally let go, stepping back into her comfort zone again.

“It’s okay,” She smiled. “We’ll get over each other. Eventually.”

She started to leave towards the door.

“Will you let me know when you are ready to have us here?”

“Yes. I’ll just make sure the newspapers from the years you want are on the side. But give me a few weeks. It was just the end of the month, we have just released an edition two days ago, and we always have a lot of work preparing for the next newspaper. Plus, there’s school as well and I am a bit behind on my homework.”

“It’s okay.” Sally agreed. “We’ll wait, of course.”

She put her hand on the handle.

“You didn’t say what I’ll get in return.”

Irene’s voice, louder this time, reverberated through the room. Sally closed her eyes and sensed as Irene approached her again. She turned around to face her.

“What do you want?”

Irene didn’t ask; she held Sally’s face in her hands and getting on tiptoes, she leaned in and kissed her. Just a touch of the lips, nothing more. Then, she paced away.

“Nothing. I want nothing at all.”

And in an invitation for Sally to leave she turned on her heels and sat on her secretary, immersing herself in work.


	16. Studying and Quidditch

To Sherlock’s exasperation no one seemed as angry as he was with the actual state of things. A few weeks into November, Sally still didn’t have news from Irene. She had simply said she was taking care of it but they would have to wait. John was busier than ever with the Quidditch game coming up and practises were happening more often. All the others were too focused on their studies, which piled up day by day, even when they took hardly any breaks.

“Sherlock, you’re way behind on your homework as well. You should focus on that,” Molly said one afternoon, as they sat in the library, studying.

Molly had run away from the Ravenclaw’s Common Room to avoid Sherlock but he had followed her there.

“I can’t. How can any of you focus when we have all this going on?”

“Sherlock, in all honesty, there is nothing going on. I mean, it’s not like we can do much. You are convinced you’ll find something in those newspapers, but you can’t be sure. We’ll have to wait,” Molly said, wisely. “Plus, I don’t know if you have noticed, but you have been quite selfish lately.”

“Me?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Yes, you. Do you have any idea how nervous John is about his upcoming game? It’s his first game ever. He has never played for the Cup before.”

Right then it hit Sherlock. Now he understood why John had been so grumpy the last couple of days. They had been together very little and on the last conversation they had had, John seemed upset. Now it all made sense.

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“No, you haven’t but I have. Mike told me he is way behind with his homework because most of his time he spends practising with the Quidditch team and the rest with you. Instead of thanking him for risking his year to be with you, all you do is complain that no one is worried about the case.  We are at a dead end, at least until Irene gives us her avail, which by Sally’s last news may well be after Christmas.”

Sherlock stared at Molly. He squinted. He had no idea when it had happened, but there had been a change. Molly, her infatuation for him, was gone. He grinned and then got up, walked around the table to her and grabbing her head between his hands, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you,” he said.

He then trotted out of the library, leaving an astonished Molly behind.

*

John was just leaving the field after showering. The practise had been rough and if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t done such a good job. In the end, he was unable to find the snitch and it started raining so hard they had to stop practise before he captured it. Luckily now, the rain had stopped a bit. He was so focused on his own misery, that he missed the figure approaching him.

He was embraced fiercely and his first reaction was to act against it. He pushed whoever it was onto the ground, a leg blocking their legs and an arm on their neck. Only then did he notice it was Sherlock. He got up and then extended a hand.

“Sorry,” he apologised, helping him get up. “I hadn’t seen you there.”

“That was a bit of an overreaction,” Sherlock said, shaking the dirt from his cloak.

“Yes. Sorry,” John repeated.

“It’s okay.”

Sherlock smiled, apologetically.

“I am sorry,” he said.

John frowned.

“What for?”

“Well, for not supporting you as I should. I have been giving you a bit of a hard time because no one seems to care about the case we are investigating and I didn’t even realise what a burden I have been to you.”

“You are never a burden to me.,” John said, and his expression softened.

“You have been busy with Quidditch and I haven’t even asked you about it, or been comprehensive about it.”

John shrugged.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. I am sorry.”

John balanced in tiptoes.

“O..kay,” he said, dragging the word out. “Now what?”

Sherlock laughed.

“I’ll help you study.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ll help you with homework and Potions. We can study together. I won’t bother anyone with the case until we hear from Irene.”

John scrunched his nose.

“Actually, right now, I’d much rather if we could be alone.”

Sherlock understood why.

“Not a good practise?”

John was about to answer but something behind Sherlock caught his eye. John passed him, almost knocking him down again. He extended a hand and closed it around the flying object, the Golden Snitch.

“Aha!” he shouted. He opened his palm carefully. “I caught it.”

Sherlock, staring at him and the way his wet hair seemed darker and fell on his forehead, and the adorable expression on his face, stepped forward and holding John’s face between his hands, kissed him. John, caught off guard, tried to fight a laugh and with a confident gesture put his arms around Sherlock’s neck. Then, he opened his hand and let the Golden Snitch fly away again.

*

The day of the Quidditch game looked grey and rainy. Sherlock, Molly and Mike said goodbye to John, wished him good luck, and then left to find a good spot by the stands. Gryffindor was playing against Slytherin and Sherlock was wearing John’s Gryffindor scarf. To Molly’s amusement, he was as nervous as John.

They sat on the left side of the field, and a moment later they saw Lestrade making his way through the stands.

Sherlock was about to stand up when he realised Lestrade was there for Molly, not for him. He complimented everyone and then he and Molly engaged in conversation. Sherlock and Mike exchanged a look.

Sherlock got up, like everyone else, when Mr. Ludos came in, announcing the teams he was about to referee.  Then, as the teams’ captains shook hands and got on their brooms, he whistled and the game began.

It was an interesting, but not long, match. The teams were well divided and the game balanced right until the end. John had no specific rules to follow but one: catch the snitch once you see it, don’t wait. And that was exactly what he did.

Just after Gryffindor had scored again he saw a golden object by the hoops and he flew forward, ready to catch it. The Slytherin’s seeker saw his move and followed, but John’s broom was fast, well calibrated, and despite the evidence of the last practise sections, John was a good player.  He realised he played a lot better when under pressure and when it actually mattered.  He plunged forward and with a swift gesture he enveloped the snitch in his hand.

The stadium roared.

Then, something else happened. Down, closer to the stands, he saw the same golden shine and the Slytherin’s seeker flying faster towards it. John looked at his own hand and opened it, to be sure. Yes, he still had the snitch. It didn’t make sense.

The Slytherin’s seeker held the snitch and flew upwards, but by the time he did so the whole stadium was silent. There were murmurs, but no roar. Mr. Ludos whistled and the players were called down.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at both seekers, holding one snitch each.

Then, by the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock, with his red and yellow scarf, running in their direction.

He was panting when he reached them.

“It’s the practise snitch,” he said, catching his breath.

John then remembered. He had caught the practise snitch the day before just to let it go again and it never crossed his mind that it could show up again during the game. His heart was racing inside his chest. Maybe they didn’t win after all. Maybe he had caught the wrong snitch and it was his fault entirely.

“Let me see them,” Mr. Ludos demanded, approaching the seekers.

Both John and James Moriarty opened their hands. Mr. Ludos examined both snitches. Then he smiled and faced the crowd.

“Gryffindor wins!”

And John, with a sigh of relief, felt himself being dragged by his teammates, and when he faced Sherlock he finally knew what it was like to be looked upon with sheer pride.

 


	17. If It's Words You Need

The last Hogsmeade weekend was also on the last week before Christmas’ holidays. Sherlock woke up jittery, knowing that he would finally be able to go to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and check for another mark. He was almost certain to find it, and he and Molly had been trying all kind of charms on the quill they had snatched from Mr. Adair. So far, no charm was revealing anything but that could be as due to an uncharmed quill as to a wrong charm. So they would keep trying, Molly searching in the library for new charms to reveal curses they had never heard about. It was frustrating for Sherlock to be unable to act and Sally had to repel him many times during the last couple of weeks.

“Listen,” Sally said, as they walked into the carriages that would take them to the train station and, in turn, to Hogsmeade. “I am not going to pressure Irene. She is busy with the newspaper and school and I am sure she’ll let us know as soon as she can.”

Sherlock grunted.

“We’ve been waiting for over a month!”

Sally, who was about to leave, turned to him again.

“She did warn it could take time. There are lots of newspapers, Sherlock, she said she would put them ready for us, they’re catalogued but it’s still a lot of work and with school, and the fact that she has been busy with the Daily Prophet as well, it is no surprise she’s not ready for us yet.”

“She literally only needs to give us permission to get into ‘ _The Pupil’s Eyes’_ Office and we can…”

“It’s an important place for her. She’s not going to let strangers barging through the stuff like that. Plus, she probably wants to be there while we are, and as I already repeated infinitely times to you, she has been busy.”

It was funny how Sherlock could read Sally and Irene’s story completely. He nodded. Sally, Anderson and Lestrade walked together into a carriage and John called Sherlock. He, Molly and Mike were already settled in another carriage, waiting for him.

*

James and Sebastian watched the majority of the students who had permission to go to Hogsmeade leaving the Castle and then, with a subtle smile, they turned on their heels.

It was time to put their plan into action.

*

Sherlock and John walked together, holding gloved hands and taking comfort on the way their feet pounded synchronised on the ground. Sherlock wanted to go to the quill’s shop straight away and see if there was a mark for once and for all. Molly and Mike had split from them to go to Zonko’s, more in order to leave John and Sherlock alone on their first Hogsmeade weekend together than anything else.

John pushed the door and walked inside, the difference in the temperature making his breath condensate. Sherlock walked behind him, trying to look inconspicuous. Then, as John stepped away from him with a nod, he professed the charm, non-verbally, as always. He looked around and started to look at the ground. Students walked in and out of the shop, making the doorbell buzz repeatedly. Sherlock saw John kneeling, then getting up and turning in his direction.

“I have it.” John  whispered.

And Sherlock turned on his heels and opened the door, leaving for the cold again. They walked in silence for a few yards, not wanting to get anyone’s attention. They walked away from the shops and ended up by the Shrieking Shack, but they did not pay it any attention. John opened his hand and there, on top of his black glove, was a red string.

Sherlock removed his glove and picked it up carefully. This one was bigger than the one he had found at the Ancient Artefacts Room but smaller than the one he had found at the Owlery. He had forgotten to ask Molly if the size of the string meant anything, if that was a sign of a greater power, but he was almost sure her answer would be positive. He made a mental note to ask her about it.

“This is a bit creepy here.” John pointed out, shaking.

Sherlock laughed.

“Afraid of a deserted house, are you?”

John shrugged.

“Not afraid, just… Dunno, it gives me the creeps.”

“Let’s go and have some butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, then.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and started to walk but John pulled him close and kissed him.

“I’ll miss you during the holidays, you know?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you have been saying that ten times a day for the last week. It’s only two weeks and then we’ll have lots of time to be together.” Then he sighed. “I’ll write to you.”

“Promise?” John asked.

“Promise.” Sherlock said.

And with that he kissed John and they walked together again, leaving the Shrieking Shack behind.

*

On the last day before holidays, Sherlock and John spent the hours shielded under the Quidditch stands’ tunnels. Bags were packed and they were happy to have a day without study, just for the two of them.

“Sally said we’ll probably be able to check on those newspapers as soon as we return. Irene talked with her today.”

“Just about time.” Sherlock grunted, annoyed. “If someone’s life depended on her they’d be dead by now.”

“What do you think we will find there?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Sherlock answered. “I have a hint we may have missed strange things all over the years and that may be the key to all of this. Because,” And he sat upright, staring at John now. “We have no idea who might be behind this. Even if the quill is charmed, and we know Victor Trevor was charmed, we have no clue of who did it. And I am certain we will find something on those newspapers.”

“Do you think that whoever did this may attack again?”

“I’m pretty sure they will, especially when we now know the incident of the quills is correlated with all the others.”

John went silent for a second, staring at the ground. Sherlock sensed something.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Don’t do anything reckless.”

“What do you mean?”

John shifted his position and then stared at Sherlock.

“Whoever is doing this is dangerous.” And then he choked out the words. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Sherlock frowned. John was so easy going with words. He was the opposite, and sometimes he wondered if he was hurting John with all he wouldn’t say.

“I love you.”

John looked up, staring at Sherlock, wondering if he had heard it right. Sherlock was looking at him as if he was holding a grenade, ready to explode. And then John knew he had heard it right. He grinned.

“I love you, too.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked at the ground now, playing with bits of sand, trying to dismiss the importance of the moment.

“Good. That’s… Good.”

The grin on John’s face widened. Sherlock was an idiot sometimes, but for better or worse, he was _his_ idiot.


	18. Count The Stars For My Happy Returns

Sherlock spent his holidays writing letters to John and trying to find any books at his parents’ house about charms and curses.

John spent his thinking about something special to offer Sherlock for his birthday, on the 6th of January. Even after a trip to Diagon Ally he returned home empty handed.

Late at night, John sat on his bed, looking at the wall opposite him, staring without realising, at the big chest his parents had given him for his tenth birthday. And then he remembered a gift he had been offered but had never used and how well that would suit Sherlock.

With the birthday gift taken care of, he wrote an extensive letter, narrating to Sherlock all about his day at Diagonally, but omitting of course the real reason why he had been there.

*

Sherlock was anxiously waiting at the platform. He and Molly, as usual, had arrived at King’s Cross together and passed the barrier 9 ¾ together, and Molly had gone to search for a free carriage for them. John was still missing and was late. Finally, behind a crowd of first years’ students Sherlock saw him, carrying the small bag he had taken home for the holidays. John was scrutinizing the crowd, looking for Sherlock and his face lit up when he saw him. He jogged to get to him and then, letting his bag fall onto the ground, he placed his arms around Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock was taller and had to lower himself a bit to hug him back, looking around, embarrassed.  

“Happy Birthday!” John announced, letting him go.

“John, don’t.” Sherlock asked, blushing.

John laughed.

“Come on or we’ll lose the train. Sorry I am late; my sister was making a tantrum and wouldn’t let me leave the house without checking my bags, saying that I had stolen her old Quidditch kit. As if I needed that.”

“Did she find a job already?” Sherlock asked, remembering vaguely John mentioning something about that in one of his letters.

“Nah, she’s a hopeless case.”

And he shrugged his shoulders, closing the subject like that. He didn’t like to talk about his sister.

“I’ve got a present for you.” John said. “But I’ll give it to you later.”

“Molly’s saving seats for us; see if you find her.”

And they walked along the train corridors, looking for Molly, happy to be together again.

*

When they arrived at the Castle it was late afternoon and the sun had just set.

Sherlock had to embarrassingly deal with John, Molly and Mike chanting to him ‘Happy Birthday’ during the post-holidays’ feast just to be followed by all students in the Great Hall standing up and singing as well. He had never asked for this. He was crimson and he could see the satisfaction on John’s face. Students left their tables to shake his hand and he wished they would stop, but they didn’t. By the time the feast was over and they started heading to the Common Rooms, Sherlock was still being pat on the back by people he had never heard of before. Molly said goodbye to him and to John at the Ravenclaw’s Common Room entrance and answered the riddle that the grey eagle which composed the handle of the door made, disappearing behind it right after.

John looked at Sherlock and took something that he had been hidden out of his cloak.

“Here,” He said. “This is my birthday present to you.”

Sherlock picked it up. The wrapping was neat, grey and blue, just like Ravenclaw’s colours. He opened it carefully. Inside there was thin box made of dark wood.

“Hum…” Sherlock said. “Thank you?”

John laughed.

“It’s an _Alo_.” John explained. “It is used to keep things hidden. Like papers and even books. It has an Undetectable Extension charm to it, I think, because it fits a lot more than the size of the box. I thought it would be useful to keep your catalogues. This way they won’t get ruined and you can have them all in the same place. You know, for the ashes and strings and so on. Plus, you can create a password to it and only you can access it.”

Sherlock stared at the thin box in his hand. He had been looking for something like that for ages. He stared back at John.

“Thank you.” He said.

John dismissed it with a wave. He swallowed.

“I wish we could be alone now.” John whispered, looking at his feet. “I missed you.”

Sherlock extended a hand.

“I know a place. Come on.”

He looked around. There were still people in the corridors, going to their common rooms and chatting with the colleagues, so Sherlock strode between them, dragging John behind him, knowing it wouldn’t be long until curfew. They went up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” John asked, in a whisper.

“Seventh floor.” Sherlock answered.

“But that’s where Gryffindor’s Common Room is.”

“There’s an even more important room there as well.” Sherlock said.

They paced up the stairs and Sherlock suddenly stopped by a great tapestry on the wall and walked from one side to the other, hands on his temples.

“What are you doin…”

John’s voice got caught on his throat. Right before them a door had materialised on the wall. Sherlock grinned and opened the door. He peeked inside.

“Come on.” He said to John, entering.

John stood at the entrance for a second, trying to assimilate what he was seeing.

“Come in and close the door before we get caught!” Sherlock ushered.

John did as he was told and then looked around again.

The room was not too big. It was cosy, intimate and there were pillows all over the floor. The roof, just like the Great Hall’s, showed the sky outside. Except that it looked darker and punctuated with much many stars.

Sherlock was staring at him, expectant.

“What… I don’t understand. I passed here thousands of times and I… Did that door just materialised into the wall?”

Sherlock laughed.

“It’s called the Room of Requirement. For what I could gather throughout the years, even before finding its name, it answers to what you need, or what you request. And I requested this. You wanted a place to be alone, so I hope this will suffice.”

John took the information in, thinking about it.

“Wow.” Was all he managed to say.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor, where a few more pillows stood on top of each other, creating a head rest. He was looking at his box. Taking the piece of parchment from his pocket, he put it with the three red strings inside the box and closed it. Then, he picked his wand and looked at John. He smiled and pointed the wand at the box.

“Gryffindor.” He said.

“Did you password it with my House?” John asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock said. “John or Watson is quite obvious, so…” He placed the box down on the ground.

He was nervous and he could see by the way John was holding himself that he was too. John removed his cloak, still looking at the sky.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sherlock said.

“I thought you didn’t care about the Solar System.” John mocked, laying on the floor and leaning against the pillows, which created a headrest, placed behind him.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.” Sherlock pointed out.

He looked at John, feeling his own heart against his ribcage, thumping. 

“Plus,” He said, and for some reason his voice was just a whisper now. “Maybe we can use it and you can help me pass Astronomy.”

“I thought you didn’t care about that.” John said, looking at him, fighting the urge to take a deep breath.

And Sherlock leaned over him and whispered.

“I don’t.”

He kissed him. John held him tighter than he had ever before, running his hands through his hair and closing the distance between their bodies.

The Castle fell silent as students went to their beds, getting ready to face a new day of school the following morning.

Sherlock and John left the Room of Requirement at the wake of dawn, kissing each other one last time before finally parting, with a smile that couldn’t be put off on their faces.


	19. The Newspaper Hunt Begins

Sherlock, John, Molly and Mike were sitting together at the Great Hall, talking about their vacations and enjoying the free afternoon. Molly and Mike were already doing the homework assigned that morning, each with a different subject at hand, whilst Sherlock and John sat in front of one another, holding hands over the table and pretty much just staring at each other, when Sally approached their table.

“Irene says we can go whenever we want to check on those newspapers.” She told Sherlock. “She is there this afternoon, so if you want to take advantage of that, now is the time.”

Sherlock got up, nodding.                                                                              

“Do you need us to go?” Molly asked, pointing at her book. “I’m almost finished here, but I’d still like to finish before we leave.”

“Okay.” Sherlock agreed. “John and I will go ahead and you can both meet us there.”

He then turned to Sally.

“Are you coming as well?”

Sally shook her head.

“No, sorry. I also have quite a load of homework to take care of. They were not lying when they said this year was tough. But I’ll warn Lestrade and Anderson, they’ll probably meet you there.”

Sherlock shook.

“Lestrade will.” He agreed, in way of deduction.

Sally nodded. She knew Anderson didn’t like Irene, and he had his reasons, so he would avoid being around her, if he could.

John and Sherlock walked towards the third floor and Sherlock knocked on the door. He heard the clack of shoes on the ground and then the door was opened. Irene Adler was looking up at him, gazing at John for a moment, then back at Sherlock. She opened the door to let them through.

“I suppose you are Sally’s friends.” She said.

“Colleagues.” Sherlock corrected. “She said you had agreed to help us out.”

“I took out the newspapers and I allow you to check them. They’re school property anyway, but they can’t leave the room. Sorry that it took so long to get them ready, but we are a bit busy here.”

She walked with grace into the room and they followed her. At a corner, in cabinets made of old wood, a few drawers were opened.

“These are the ones you asked for.” Irene pointed out at the opened drawers. “They’ve been there for too long, some of them were out of place and order, but I put them all correct for you. You have a secretary here so you can sit and look for what you need.”

Sherlock nodded.

“May I ask you why you are doing this?” She asked, crossing her hands in front of her chest. “Sally did not elaborate.”

“It’s private.” Sherlock affirmed, defensive.

Irene nodded.

“Very well. I have got work to do, so suit yourselves.”

She looked at them one last time and then sat at her own desk, picking a quill and a bit of parchment. Then she remembered.

“Oh, it’s truth.” She said, pointing at the table she had assigned for them. “There’s the newspaper you asked, from 1985. The Daily Prophet.”

Sherlock looked at the table and picked the newspaper up. He read the headline and the images on his mind palace overlapped with the ones from the newspaper. The only information that he could not access inside his own head was about the boy being sent to an institution to be tutored. Sherlock placed the newspaper down and sighed in frustration. Nothing to go on with.

He stared at John.

“Let’s get to work then.”

John moved his head up and down dramatically and despite the situation Sherlock smiled. They had a lot of work ahead of them; he just hoped it was worth it.

*

A few hours later a new knock on the door brought five more people with it. Against all odds, Molly, Mike, Lestrade and even Anderson and Sally were received by Irene, who simply shrugged her shoulders and found five more chairs. The tension between her, Sally and Anderson could be cut with a knife, but the others pretended not to feel it.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Lestrade asked, staring at the newspaper Sherlock had assigned him.

“Anything particular, strange, but simple cases. Anything that gets your attention.” He sighed. “I wish I could do this all by myself, but I can’t so I am relying on you to be able to spot abnormal things that might be connected with this situation.”

Lestrade nodded and started to read the newspaper. They all worked in silence for a while.

*

Three weeks into January were yet to show anything that caught Sherlock’s attention. Whilst the others showed no hope to find anything important by now, Sherlock knew they would find it. They had to. It was a gut instinct but he was so certain of it; it irked at him that they hadn’t found anything yet.

Irene’s constant presence in ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ office was something that he was very grateful for; even if that meant that they couldn’t count with Anderson’s help anymore. He and Irene had gotten into a fight a few days after they started their research, with Sally breaking it up and a furious Anderson leaving the room to never return.

Sherlock wanted to stay as far away from those matters as possible, so he focused even more on the newspapers, just like all the others, discussing this or that at times, but mostly working silently.

Sometimes he would be there all alone, when all the others were busy with classes or refused to help him because they had way too much homework left to do, and he would take notes of things that said nothing but, somehow, seemed odd enough to catch his attention. He wondered if the others would pick up the same things as well, so quite often Irene saw him getting up just to revise a newspaper one of the others had already gone through. She never said anything.

Molly used to scold him.

“You need to catch up on your homework; you can’t spend all your time in there!”

And then she would sit with him on Ravenclaw’s Common Room and let him copy of her, promising it was the last time she allowed him to do this.

One day, only John, Sherlock and Molly remained at the office, and John noted something.

“Look here.” He said, folding the newspaper carefully and showing it to Sherlock. “Ancient Artefacts Room assaulted. Nothing of value stolen.”

Sherlock picked the newspaper and read the rest of the news himself, with Molly over his shoulder, glancing at the story.

_“Last night, during curfew hours imposed to the students by the school, the Ancient Artefacts Room was assaulted. Nothing of value was stolen but one of the drawers was tampered with and damaged. Inside there were important and old documents, but the Head Master, Professor Prudence Adara, assures that nothing was amiss. There’s no sign of the culprits.”_

Molly looked at Sherlock.

“A drawer with old documents.”

Sherlock nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

“See.” He said, staring from her to John. “This is the sort of thing that I am looking for. This is no coincidence.” He looked at the date on the newspaper. “Third year for us.”

“I don’t remember this.” John said. “It’s a big deal, a break in.”

“It was kept in the shadows.” Irene intervened, unable to avoid listening to the conversation. “I was on my fourth year here at Hogwarts. The teachers didn’t want anyone to make a fuss, so only students who bought the newspaper got to know about this.”

“Do you know which drawer was tampered with?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes.” She responded. “It was exactly the same one from where that scroll was stolen last September.”

Irene knew what they were looking for now, she pieced it all together easily.

Sherlock hit the newspaper with his indicator.

“This means we are in the right track.” He noted.

“Still doesn’t give us any clues as to who did this.” John pointed out.

“It’s a beginning.” Sherlock said.

And they got back to work with renewed motivation.


	20. Conductor Of Light

Sherlock scratched his head, moving slowly behind John and all the others a few weeks after their first discovery. They had leaved ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ office after yet another afternoon rummaging through papers to find nothing relevant. Sherlock was bored and upset. They dragged themselves to their tables to have dinner.

After dinner John, Mike, Molly and Sherlock left the Great Hall together. A little girl – a second year student – passed them by, late for dinner and carrying two bags.

“Anthea?” Molly asked, and the girl turned around.

“Hum? Oh, sorry, Molly. I didn’t see you there.”

“Is everything okay?” Molly asked. “You seem a bit distressed.”

“No, not everything is okay. It’s Billy.” She explained, placing the bags on the floor. “He fainted during Potions and was taken to the Hospital Wing. Mrs. Cave doesn’t know what has gotten into him, so she called Professor Adara.”

“Billy? Isn’t that the kid who is always losing his stuff?”

Molly used to help younger students with their studies whilst at the library, and Anthea and Billy were only two amongst many.

“Yes, that’s him.” Anthea sighed. “He has been feeling a bit ill lately, but I didn’t think it might be anything of importance. Just a cold, or weakness, we’ve been studying quite a lot.” She stopped to get her thoughts together. “Then, he was mixing a Potion and writing a few things down and suddenly fell to the ground. Just like that. I didn’t give it much importance until I saw the look on Mrs. Cave’s face. Either way, they basically kicked me out of the Hospital Wing, said they would let me know as soon as they had news.”

“I am sorry, Anthea.” Molly said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“The thing is,” Anthea said. “Mrs. Cave is really good. If she can’t fix him, then it must be something really serious.”

Sherlock looked at the girl, and Molly’s words resounded in his head. _‘Isn’t that the kid who is always losing his stuff?’_

“Give me his quill.” Sherlock said, extending a hand in the direction of the girl.

The girl stared at him, taken aback.

“I am sorry, what? His quill?”

“Sherlock, you don’t think…?” Molly asked.

“I do. You said he is always losing his things. What better reason to have his quill replaced than that?” He turned to Anthea again. “May I have his quill?”

“Why?” She asked.

“We think we may save him with that.” Molly explained.

And a scared Anthea opened the bag that belonged to Billy and gave the quill to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t say thank you. He paced in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

“Come, John.” He demanded, not even bothering to make sure John would follow him. He knew he would.

*

Sherlock and John walked together along the corridors that led to the first floor of the Castle.

“What are you going to tell them?” John asked, walking faster to try and keep up with Sherlock’s pace.

“The truth. Well, at least part of it. That we think Billy’s might have been cursed and that all quills on this school should be thrown away.”

“What if they don’t believe you?”

Sherlock stopped and turned to John.

“Then we’ll have to wait until someone dies for them to take us seriously.”

He reached the Hospital Wing and Professor Adara was standing by the door, talking to Mrs. Cave. Sherlock approached them.

“Professor.” He said, raising his chin.

“Yes?” The Professor turned to him.

“We are here because of Billy.” He said.

“Billy isn’t at the Hospital Wing anymore.” Professor Adara said. “He was taken to St. Mungo’s.”

“It was a curse, wasn’t it?”

Professor Adara glanced at Sherlock and then turned to Mrs. Cave.

“I’ll let you know if St. Mungos has any developments, Dee.” She told her. “They should send me an owl as soon as they figure out what is wrong with him.”

Mrs. Cave nodded and walked into the Hospital Wing, knowing when she was being dismissed. Professor Adara turned to Sherlock and John.

“What makes you think Billy was cursed?”

“Well, because Billy is always losing his things and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop was robbed and all they took were quills. It’s not so hard to make a deduction.”

Professor Adara looked at Sherlock from head to toe.

“Billy has indeed been cursed. We don’t know yet how much damage the curse has made, or which specific curse is attacking him. He went unconscious, which lets us think that whoever cursed him didn’t use such a powerful charm. It does seem like he has been receiving the curse during several days or weeks and today it has reached its peak. Or, at least the peak Billy could endure.”

“Other people might be going through the same right this moment.” Sherlock said. “Curses don’t work equally on everyone. Some present symptoms, others just die.”

Professor Adara smiled faintly.

“Yes, I am aware of that.” She cleared his throat. “And what is your plan of action?”

Sherlock extended his hand with Billy’s almost brand new quill in his hand. If his deductions were correct – and they usually were – he must have started to use this quill before Christmas holidays. Which meant that whoever had cursed the quills had used the last Hogsmeade weekend to spread them around school. Good timing, since pretty much anyone with a permit had been away from school and there would have been fewer witnesses.

“I advise that you collect all quills from every student in this school, and also the replacement quills kept by Mr. Adair and at the library, and check them for curses. Once you find which curse attacked Billy, that is, to make the work easier. The students with cursed quills should be given an antidote before it’s too late, though the pace of the curse is bound to slow down if they stop being exposed to the object that contains the curse, at least that’s how the curses I have read about work. I am pretty sure you’ll find the curse which attacked Billy in his quill as well. And even if you don’t, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Professor Adara picked the quill from Sherlock’s hand.

“What is your name?”

“Sherlock Holmes, ma’am.” Sherlock answered, all straight shoulders and proud.

“And you?” She asked John.

“John Watson.”

She nodded.

“Very well. I will take action immediately. Make sure you report anything odd to me.”

Both Sherlock and John acquiesced. They watched as the Professor paced away.

“Do you have any idea who might be behind this?” Sherlock still asked.

She turned on her heels and stopped for a moment.

“Unfortunately, no.”

And without giving time for any of them to ask any more questions, she disappeared beyond the corridor walls.

*

The same day all Common Rooms had the same warning on their boards: all quills, no exception, should be identified and delivered to the Prefects and Head Boys and Girls from their respective houses, who in turn should deliver them to Mr. Adair.  New quills would be given the next day. Unfinished homework would be, in this exceptional situation, tolerated.

“I can’t believe she actually heard you.” Molly said, looking at the warning on the wall.

“Professor Adara knows better than any of us that her school is at risk. It would be unwise not to.”

After identifying and delivering his quills to the assigned students, Sherlock left the Common Room to meet John.

John had been practising more than ever for the Quidditch game against Hufflepuff on the fourth weekend of February. Sherlock met him at the Gryffindor locker rooms. John had taken a shower and was getting dressed, commenting with Sherlock about the quick response Professor Adara had given.

They left the locker rooms together, holding hands, and decided to shield again under the Quidditch Pitch’s tunnels, where they could hear the sound the wind made against the wood that made the tunnels, but could not feel it.

Sherlock placed his head on John’s lap and John played with his hair.

“What is it?” John asked, when Sherlock remained silent.

“I was thinking…” Sherlock began and then he sat upright. “If they stole all the quills, they needed a place to store them, right? I mean, before they cursed them.”

John moved his head in agreement.

“I suppose.”

“But not at school where anyone could find them.”

“It would be a bit risky.”

Sherlock lay down again.

“We need to find where they keep things. They ought to have a lair or something…”

“They may be using the Room of Requirement.” John pointed out.

Sherlock bolted up.

“That’s it!” He shouted.

He grabbed John’s hand and dragged him behind him.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“John, you are amazing! I have to say, you may not be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are fantastic! Fantastic how some people, not being the genius, have the ability to stimulate it in others.”

John frowned, still following Sherlock.

“I am not really sure that counts as a compliment!”

But Sherlock didn’t answer. He entered the Castle in the direction of the seventh floor.

As he reached the tapestry he walked three times from one side to the other, hands on his temples again, but nothing happened. Nothing showed up. The wall, unlike before, when he had wished for a safe place to be with John, didn’t change in the slightest.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

“It was a good attempt anyway. Let’s go.”

But John stopped him.

“You know, we are all the way here already and there’s no one in sight. Normally, I should be doing my homework, but since there are no quills and therefore I don’t have to…”

And with a suggestive look John walked three times in front of the wall and when the door materialised, to show a very different room from the one Sherlock had managed to create the last time, he pulled Sherlock inside by his collars, thinking that he was quite happy with being the conductor of light alone.


	21. You Are Equipped To See It

The end of February brought more concise news about the quills, and the news had been exactly what Sherlock was expecting: most quills delivered by the students were curse-free, but those kept by Mr. Adair and those ready to become a replacement to any student at the library contained a curse.

The students whose quills had been identified as being cursed – who, not surprisingly, had been the ones who had lost their quills before – were going to be given an antidote. The curse had been firstly identified on Billy by the Healers at St. Mungos and when they checked the quills for the same curse, there it was. Billy was by himself weak; he was often sick and the curse had attacked him rapidly. He would be completely healed though, and with no blemishes. The fact that he was an easy target for the curse had been, in a way, a blessing: if it had taken longer to make a victim more people would get seriously damaged by it, as time went by.  

Sherlock put down the newspaper and looked at John, who had been through the newspaper a few times already and was now focusing on his homework, as it was usual to see him doing these last weeks.

The Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was due the next day and it was making John more and more nervous. He had done a great job on his first game and the weight of that only made everything worse. He had been practising regularly, both alone and with the team, and despite showing good results he still felt like he was fitting in a place that was not supposed to be his.

Sherlock looked at him and then flipped the corner of his book.

“Oi!” John complained, frowning. His expression softened right after. “Sorry, I was focused on this. Aren’t you going to do your homework?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said, pointing to his books on the table.

They were sitting at the library a bit distanced from Molly and Mike, who were once again frenetically checking facts with the help of other manuals besides the ones they had been assigned at the beginning of the year.

“What is it, then? I really have to finish this, I have team meeting later on, and we’ll probably practise a bit to make sure we are ready for tomorrow.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Oh, okay, then maybe I can ask you later.” He said, pouting and bringing one of the books closer.

John sighed. Sherlock was always so dramatic.

“What is it?” His fingers brushed Sherlock’s lightly. Sherlock smiled.

“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to the Pre Spring Ball.”

A few weeks before the school had placed an announcement on the board at the Common Room of each House, informing that a Pre Spring Ball was to take place on the first weekend of March, after the game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. The whole Castle roared with the news and students started to make their preparations. To find a date was, of course, the main focus for those who did not have someone who they were certain to be their partner for the evening.

“I thought that was implied.” John said, smiling now.

“Well, excuse me for asking!” Sherlock exclaimed and pouted again, but without meaning it this time.

John laughed. He heard as Mrs. Hudson passed by, clearing her throat in way of ‘silence!’ and he whispered.

“Yes, I’d love to go with you to the Pre Spring Ball.”

Sherlock smiled.

“Good.” He whispered back.

John bit his quill.

“What?” Sherlock asked, unable to decipher his expression.

“Will you still want to go with me if Gryffindor loses?”

Sherlock chuckled.

“Absolutely not. So you better catch that snitch.”

Sherlock held John’s right hand and then started to finally pay attention to his homework.

*

Molly was going through a few pieces of parchment and looking through two books. She could not find what she was looking for and despite Mike’s attempts to help her out, he was as much at loss as she was. Molly sighed and put her quill down.

“Mike?” She asked.

Mike raised his head from the book he was reading.

“Hum?”

“Would you like to go to the Pre Spring Ball with me?” She asked.

Asking this from Mike was no strain; they knew each other too well for Mike to take this in a way that Molly didn’t intend him to.

Mike chuckled.

“Why? Don’t you have a date already?”

Molly shook her head.

“No. And I mean, I could go alone, but since you don’t have a date either, I thought we might as well go together.”

“That’s nice of you, Molly, but I don’t really think you should compromise to me. Not that I would be offended if you ditched me afterwards, but still.”

“What do you mean? Oh, I am sorry, you do have someone? When we spoke about it the other day I understood you didn’t…”

“No, I don’t.” Mike responded. “It’s not mandatory to have a date and there’s really no one I’d like to take. Plus, I am sure there will be plenty of people without a date at the Ball tomorrow and I can always have their company.”

“Oh, okay.” Molly said, without actually understanding why they couldn’t go together if he wasn’t planning on inviting someone.

Mike understood her reaction.

“The thing is, Molly, I don’t want to become an impediment in case someone else asks you.”

Molly scoffed.

“The Ball is tomorrow, I am not going to be asked by anyone.” She shrugged.

“Well, I believe you are about to be proven wrong.”

Molly heard footsteps approaching their table and looked up. Lestrade was standing in front of her, wringing his hands and Molly saw Sally and Anderson by the bookshelves, trying to look inconspicuous.

“Molly.” Lestrade muttered, and then cleared his throat. “Hum… Could you please step to the hall with me?”

Molly nodded and looked at Mike one more time before leaving. She followed Lestrade outside the library.

Lestrade stood there in front of her, and put his hands on his pockets.

“Hum, I wanted to ask you something.” He said.

“Alright.” Molly nodded.

Lestrade looked at her again and seemed to be lost for words. Then he looked at his own shoes and spoke.

“Wouldyouliketogototheprespringballwithme?” He mumbled.

Molly frowned, amused.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Lestrade took a deep breath and then faced her.

“Would you like to go to the Pre Spring Ball with me?”

Molly smiled.

“The Ball is tomorrow already.”

Lestrade felt something heavy falling on his chest.

“Oh.” He managed to choke out. “You already have a date. I am sorry, I didn’t…”

“No.” Molly interrupted. “I don’t have a date and I’d love to go with you.”

Lestrade faced her and a crooked smile spread on his lips. He felt relived.

“Oh.” He said again, a different tone this time. “That’s good. That’s very good, actually.”

Molly was smiling.

“But I have one request, though.” She said.

“Anything.”

“Don’t wait for the last moment next time. I was about to go with Mike if he hadn’t refused.”

Lestrade nodded.

“Promise.”

And they smiled at each other.

“Okay. I better go inside then.” Molly said.

“Yes, of course. Hum, see you tomorrow, for the Gryffindor game against Hufflepuff. I am afraid I won’t be cheering for John tomorrow.”

Molly laughed.

“It’s okay.” She said. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you. But you better keep a neutral look around Sherlock if Hufflepuff scores.” She warned.

“Will do.”

They shared one last look and smile, and Molly left to the library. Lestrade turned around and as Sally and Anderson left the library they saw him doing a small spin, which he would effusively deny having done later on.  

*

On the next day the sun shone bright in the sky, and only a few clouds were scattered, blotting the blue with white. It was warmer than the days before, but still not warm enough to be taken as a warning that the spring was just around the corner.

When Sherlock came down the stairs to the Great Hall to have breakfast he scanned the Gryffindor table but John and his team mates were already gone. Molly was sitting at the Ravenclaw’s table already, alone in a corner, painting her nails whilst Lestrade looked at her, sitting next to Mike, who seemed quite amused, on the Hufflepuff table. Anderson and Sally were nowhere to be seen.

Sherlock sat in front of Molly, as usual.

“’Morning.” He said, picking some toast and buttering it up.

“Oh, hello.” Molly said, cheerfully.

“So, are you going to the Pre Spring Ball with Lestrade?”

“Yes. He invited me and I said yes.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock nodded, biting the toast.

He then spoke again.

“I was thinking about continuing checking on the newspapers on Monday.”

“I’ll help you out.” Molly offered, placing her open hand on the table and admiring it, looking pleased with the result. “Oh, there comes John.”

John was looking at his feet as he entered the room, passing by some students who were already leaving the Great Hall. He sat at the Gryffindor table and Sherlock got up, to meet him. John looked up as Sherlock approached the Gryffindor table.

“Oh, hello.” John mumbled.

“How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked.

“Like a wreck. I’ll be fine thought, I just need to eat, we didn’t have time to eat breakfast, Diane was already up when I got here this morning and yelling at everyone.”

Diane was the Gryffindor’s Captain and despite being usually one of the kindest people John knew, when it came to Quidditch she seemed to become a whole new person.

“You’ll be fine.” Sherlock assured, and removed John’s tie with dexterous fingers.

He removed his own Ravenclaw tie and put John’s red and gold around his neck, with a smug expression. John laughed and somehow, that seemed to make it all better.

*

Sherlock said goodbye to John and sat at the Ravenclaw’s stands, as usual next to Molly. When the teams were called and the game began he saw John glancing his way, and raising a hand as his eyes found him, to fly with more assurance afterwards. He soared above the field, grip tight on the handle of his broom.

Hufflepuff was well prepared. They were scoring more than Gryffindor and making fewer faults. Diane was furious and she kept scolding John, urging him to catch the snitch as fast as possible. They still had more points than Hufflepuff and if John caught the snitch now they’d still be on to win the Cup. But if Hufflepuff caught the snitch now they could kiss it goodbye.

John flew all over the field, looking everywhere and he felt his head light. He slipped a bit from the broom but was able to gain his balance.

Sherlock could see something was odd with John. He didn’t seem as assured as when the game had started and he had just slipped off the broom.

John circled the field for what seemed the thousand time that day. And then, he finally saw it. It was close to the floor, on the side of the Ravenclaw stands. He looked at the Hufflepuff’s seeker, who didn’t seem to have seen anything, and then made his way down the field. He could still feel as if something was clutching at his chest but he was sure it was just the nervousness of such an important game. He saw the snitch flying, from one side to the other, its wings fluttering. He flew faster and was so close. He lurked forward and extended his left hand. The snitch got caught inside his hand and he laughed, relieved. But the feeling in his chest did not go away. He flew back up but not as much as he wanted to, and then he moved in the direction of Mr. Ludos, who was ready to proclaim the winner as soon as John showed  the snitch in his hand.

John came down as his team mates started cheering, certain now he had caught it, and as he reached Mr. Ludos he opened his hand, showing him the snitch. Then, with no warning, John fell face first on the ground.

Sherlock got up and pushed aside every student in his way. There was something nagging at him for a while, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on and now it clicked, fitting like the perfect piece on a puzzle.

“John!” He shouted, grabbing John by his equipment.

Professor Adara had reacted quickly and was already on the pitch.

“We need to take him to the hospital wing.” She said.

Sherlock, letting go of John for a second turned to Diane.

“To whom did John’s equipment belong?” He asked.

Diane seemed to shrink in her place and answered.

“To Victor Trevor. It was John’s size, so we didn’t bother to buy another.”

Sherlock felt as if his world had fallen off. He tried to keep his composure, despite the desperation, and turned to Professor Adara.

“He has been cursed. His equipment is cursed. Like the quills.”

And Sherlock never felt as useless as right now. It was obvious, really. But he had been too blind to see and now he might lose John because of this, and if that happened, he would never forgive himself.


	22. The Ball Must Go On

The Hufflepuff beaters helped carry John to the Hospital Wing, with Sherlock by his side and Professor Adara, after giving his instructions to Mr. Ludos, right at their heels.

Mrs. Cave was surprised to see the students still wearing their Quidditch equipment entering the Hospital Wing and placing John on the first available bed. When they did so, John moved his head, and Sherlock could see him moving his eyes behind closed eyelids.

“John, can you hear me?” He said.

Mrs. Cave was listening to professor Adara and nodded, turning her back to fetch something in one of the cabinets.

John moved his head again and tried to open his eyes.

“John, it’s Sherlock. Please talk to me.”

John’s eyes finally opened and he stared at Sherlock, in some confusion.

“Sherlock…” He mumbled.

Mrs. Cave moved Sherlock out of the way and spoke to John.

“I need you to drink this, otherwise I’ll have to administer this some other way and trust me, if you can drink it you’ll prefer it this way.”

First, however, she removed John’s equipment and then covered him with the bed’s white sheet.

John did not understand what was being asked of him. Professor Adara was now dispensing and thanking the Hufflepuff students who had helped carry John and they left the Hospital Wing with the promise that someone would inform them on John’s health. .John felt a glass being placed on his lips and, without thinking, he drank the strange looking liquid inside it. It tasted horribly and he felt a cold deep within his chest and as he parted his lips and opened his eyes he saw his breath, dark and almost palpable, escaping his mouth. He coughed.

Professor Adara spoke.

“We need to take that and check it for charms.” She said. “It’s pretty clear by now that it was cursed, but it’s the normal procedure.” She then turned to John. “You were very lucky.”

John nodded, beginning to understand what had happened to him.

Professor Adara turned to Sherlock.

“How did you know it was on the equipment?”

Sherlock, who was holding John’s hand now, told her about his suspicious that Victor Trevor might have been cursed before being killed, and how he realised that John must have been given his equipment when he was admitted into Gryffindor’s Quidditch team.”

Professor Adara nodded.

“Victor Trevor was indeed cursed with the same curse that was on the quills. ‘Tarda Ad Morten’ it is called. Slow death. Someone killed Victor before the curse had any relevant effect of course.” Her eyes scrutinized Sherlock.  “And somehow I have the feeling you already knew this.”

Sherlock swallowed. He didn’t want to give it away because he saw no point in that.

“We need to find who did this.” Professor Adara said. “And any help is accepted just as long as you are careful.”

That was not a threat, it was an invitation. She was not scolding Sherlock for his research, nor discouraging him to stop doing it. She was offering a peace treaty, and asking for his help in case he found out something important. Sherlock nodded, a silent agreement. Professor Adara spoke again.

“He needs some rest. I have all confidence you’ll be just fine now, but please keep a record if you feel something different.” This was directed to John, who still seemed a bit groggy. “We’ll find you a new equipment. And that was a beautiful catch.”

John smiled a little. Professor Adara started to leave but John stopped her.

“Professor?” He asked, his voice tiny.

“Yes?”

“Can I still go to the Pre Spring Ball?”

“I don’t know.” Professor Adara answered. “Can you?”

She was not being cheeky; she was telling him that it was up to him to decide that. John didn’t answer, so she continued.

“Mrs. Cave will keep you here for a few hours to check on you. If later on you feel like you are in better shape, then I see no reason why you should miss it.”

John nodded and both he and Sherlock followed Professor’s Adara figure until she disappeared beyond the door.

Sherlock pulled a chair and Mrs. Cave walked into the room again, carrying something with her.

“Here.” She said. “Eat this; it will make you feel better. I am sending your equipment to be checked for this curse and others, but professor Adara said it wouldn’t be a problem, they’ll find you a new one. Even if they didn’t, you’d have no choice.  Now have a rest, it’s important.”

And giving some chocolate to John she left the room again to her small office.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand tightly.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

John frowned.

“Sorry? Why? You shouldn’t be sorry, it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it was!” He exclaimed, angry. “It was my fault. I should have seen it. It was right there, right in front of my eyes, and I just…”

John sat on the bed, and placed one finger on Sherlock’s chin, making him face him.

“For one, stop being an idiot.” Sherlock was about to respond but John didn’t give him room for that. “You have already found a lot of things in this whole damn story; you can’t just figure everything out. If anyone should have seen it, it was me. I knew I was wearing Victor’s equipment, so I should have guessed that there was a good possibility that he might have been cursed with his equipment. Stop blaming yourself, you’ll only make me feel worse.”

Sherlock nodded in acceptance.

“Plus,” John continued. “There is something you committed to and I hope you go through with it.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to furrow his eyebrow.

“I caught the snitch.”

And Sherlock smiled, remembering their conversation at the Great Hall, right before the match.

“If you’re still up to, I’ll surely take you to the Pre Spring Ball. If not, I’ll stay here with you.”

“No.” John said. “I want to go to the Ball. I’ll be fine.”

Sherlock nodded. That was yet to be seen.

*

Sherlock, with directions given by John, had asked a Gryffindor to fetch John’s robe for him. It looked immensely like a Muggle suit, black and white and it had an undone bowtie over it. He carried it to the Hospital Wing and gave John some privacy to dress it.

When John appeared in front of him, pushing the curtain to the side, he looked dashing and Sherlock was lost for words.

John laughed.

“You look great.” He said, admiring Sherlock’s own outfit.

Sherlock grinned and placed his hand on his hip, so that John could hold his arm.

“Shall we go?” John nodded and grabbing Sherlock’s arm, they left the Hospital Wing, admired by Mrs. Cave.

*

Molly was waiting at the entrance of the Great Hall, looking around. She had dressed a gown that had been in her trunk forever, waiting for an opportunity, and this was it. She had charmed her hair, tight at the back of her head, meshes of it falling in curls over her shoulder. Then, she saw him. Wearing his robe, looking dashing, Lestrade paced towards her. He stopped in front of her and extended his hand, holding a flower. Molly smiled, accepting it.

“Thank you. It’s lovely.”

Lestrade smiled. Then, he seemed to hesitate.

“Hum, do you mind if I?”

And he made a movement of placing the flower in her hair. Molly agreed. Lestrade looked at her, his head turned a bit to the side.

“You look beautiful”

Molly blushed.

“Shall we?” Lestrade invited, pointing to the dance floor where a few students were already twirling, though the music was yet not as loud as it would be later on.

They paced towards the centre if the dance floor and Lestrade held one of Molly’s hands in his. It was warm and soft. Molly interlaced fingers and then she turned to him. He placed his free hand on her hip, carefully, and then adjusted the other hand on hers.

As they danced around the dance floor Molly saw Mike talking to a group of Slytherin students, who all seemed to have come to the Ball alone, and he winked at her. Molly smiled, held Lestrade’s shoulder tighter and spun in her brand new dress.

*

“I am sorry.” John mumbled, sitting on the bed.

“Don’t apologise.” Sherlock demanded, staring at John with worry.

Halfway through their walk towards the Great Hall John had lost his balance. Sherlock was quick to catch him but had insisted, despite John’s complaints, that they return to the Hospital Wing. Mrs. Cave didn’t seem surprised at their return. It always took students a while to recover completely from a curse, even after it had been lifted and John’s had only been lifted a few hours ago. No amount of chocolate would fix that so quickly.

“I just ruined the Ball for you.” He said.

“No.” Sherlock said. “I don’t care about a stupid Ball, I cared because of you.”

At that moment the door of the Hospital Wing screeched on its hinges and a familiar face to Sherlock walked in. He turned around.

“Mycroft?”

The word was spit, as if Mycroft’s presence was not only unexpected but also unwanted.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft said his name and approached him, carrying his umbrella, as usual. “How are you?”

“Cut it.” Sherlock said. He had no time for his brother’s introductions. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you by any chance forgotten that I work for the Ministry?”

“This is not the Ministry, this is a school.”

Mycroft laughed at the failed attempt at cheekiness.

“I came by orders of Professor Adara. The school may be under threat…” Mycroft seemed to realise he was about to say too much. “But you don’t really need to know about that.”

Sherlock wanted to say that he probably knew more than any of them, but he was aware that would bring him trouble and undesired questions so he shut up. Mycroft was now examining John.

“I thought cases like this were taken care of by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft smiled ironically.

“I was sent to do a job; it is not my role to ask questions.”

“And yet…” Sherlock said.

“Well,” Mycroft said, as a way of goodbye. “I better be off. Sorry you couldn’t make it to the Ball. I know how much you love to dance.”

Sherlock bit his lip. He knew John was already feeling guilty for not being able to go to the Ball, he certainly didn’t need this.

“I don’t need a Ball to dance.”

“No.” Mycroft nodded. “It seems like you don’t.”

He took a long last look at John and then faced his brother.

“There are people taking care of this for a while now, Sherlock. Don’t do anything reckless.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw but didn’t say a word. He knew his brother could read what he was thinking so he observed him go, closing the door behind him.

*

Molly was walking with her hands behind her back. She was glad with the fact that she had chosen some flat shoes to go with the dress. The dress was long enough to cover them anyway, and she wouldn’t have been able to dance as much as she had danced had she chosen something else.

Lestrade walked by her side, both hands in his pockets. He stopped at the entrance of the Ravenclaw Tower and stood in front of Molly. She smiled and brushed her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you for the evening.” She said, looking at her feet.

Lestrade smiled.

“My pleasure. Thank you for agreeing being my date with such short notice.”

Molly looked up.

“My pleasure too.”

They glanced at each other. Molly was waggling her dress to the sides a bit, nervous, and to Lestrade she had never looked so adorable. He stepped forward, taking his hands off of his pockets. Molly took a silent but deep breath as she felt Lestrade approaching. Even if she had wanted to say something, the words would have been caught up on her throat.

Lestrade shortened the distance between the two and was so close that their noses were almost touching. He kissed her. He kissed her long and slowly and when he placed his hand on her face he felt her holding on to his waist, grabbing the fabric of his dress robe.

The kissed lasted for a long time and when they finally parted Molly felt like she had just woken up from a wonderful dream. Except that it was all true.

Lestrade pecked her on the lips one last time and then stepped back slightly, giving her space. He cleared his throat.

“Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? I mean, as my date?”

Molly inhaled.

“Yes.” her voice was a whisper, nothing more than that.

“Good.” Lestrade said.

He held her hand and kissed her one more time. Then, after they had said their goodnights, he kissed her hand and started to pace away, backwards. Molly laughed and he raised a hand, waving. She did the same but stood on the same place until losing sight of him, spun around once and giggled, feeling butterflies all over.

*

“I didn’t know you liked to dance so much.” John said.

He got up. Sherlock looked at him.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Giving you your dance.”

And he extended his hand in front of himself.

“I don’t really think…” Sherlock started.

John let his arms fall to his sides.

“Really, Sherlock? Can’t you at least do this for me? If I feel ill we’ll stop, promise.”

Sherlock sighed.

“Very well.”

He held John’s hand and placed the other on his waist. Then, he started to spin him around, slowly, carefully, not to make him worse.

And as the music that still came from downstairs resonated through the Castle walls they danced together, in the middle of the Hospital Wing, and it felt perfect.

*

Molly was answering the eagle’s riddle when she heard a familiar voice.

“Going to bed?”

It was Sherlock, who was approaching, looking tired but satisfied.

“Yes.” She said. “How’s John?”

She had been to see him that afternoon before the Ball, along with Mike, Sally, Anderson and Lestrade.

“Getting better.”

The Common Room was lit up with the flames that danced in the fireplace.

“Had a good evening?” Molly asked.

“Yes. You?”

Molly smiled.

“Yes. Very good.” And she waved at him. “I’m going to bed now. See you tomorrow.”

And as she went up the stairs to the girls dormitories Sherlock could read all that had happened between her and Lestrade. He chuckled. It was about time.


	23. A Revelation In Muggle Form

“Nothing.”

Sherlock placed the newspaper over the table with an exasperated sigh. He felt that all the work he had had up until this day, despite valuable and effective, had been only to frustrate him. He had the clues, he had found so much and yet, the most important thing, the culprit, was no closer to be found that when he had begun. None of the clues he had come across on the newspapers were relevant. They seemed to fit the case, but they didn’t enlighten it.

This was one of those days in which he had been to ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ Office alone and once there he had no other company but Irene. Luckily, she didn’t bother him; she was doing her job and allowed him to do his. All the others were too immersed in homework and with the days getting warmer even John had more Quidditch practises. Gryffindor was on to play against Slytherin by the end of May, and even though there was about a month before the match, Diane was getting more and more restless and forcing the players to practise more often.

‘The Yard’ tried to help as much as they could – although they really couldn’t do much about the case that had marked the beginning of their allegiance – but they were also busy with homework, that seemed to pile up by the day. Sherlock knew that if it hadn’t been for Molly’s kindness and help, he would have had a lot more homework behind. The problem was that he couldn’t really focus on homework when this kept irking his mind. He had the feeling that the end of the year was going to bring something big, something bad. The school was now being more supervised, with anti-curse charms being performed with more regularity ever since the incident with the quills and John’s Quidditch equipment. Mycroft would show up there once in a while as well, but they barely spoke and he would obviously provide no details to Sherlock.

Sherlock put the newspapers he had removed from the drawers this afternoon in their place. He and the others had gone through all the newspapers printed since his first year at Hogwarts and now, out of desperation, he would even scavenge older newspapers, just for the sake of being thorough. He closed the drawers and said his goodbyes to Irene, who was still writing something.

Closing the door behind himself he remembered the first news that had brought him there, the newspaper article with the photo of the pulley, the student who had been expelled. In the newspaper – he assumed in order to protect the student in question – there was no reference to the perpetrator of the curse. There was no picture that could help Sherlock identify him. Would the student in question be allowed into Hogwarts after being expelled from a Muggle school, had the injury not been serious enough to have such a drastic outcome? Or was someone working from the outside, giving orders to a student now? There were so many questions. His best hope was to inquiry at the Muggle school where it all had happened, but he could not fathom how he would be able to go there before it was too late.

He stopped on his tracks, in the middle of the corridor, hands in his pockets. There was a Muggle newspaper.  Mycroft had brought both home, Sherlock remembered looking through the Daily Prophet well, but Mycroft had mentioned the discrepancy between the story told to the wizarding world and the one told to the Muggle world. Maybe there was something more, some important information, in the Muggle newspaper as well.

He turned around and entered ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ Office without knocking. Irene looked at the intruder, annoyed, but her features softened when she saw him.

“What is it?” She asked, getting up.

“Do you think you can have access to Muggle newspapers?”

“I suppose.” She answered. “Is it important?”

“Yes.” Sherlock explained. “I think it may provide some extra information. I need an edition from 6 January 1985, but I can’t remember which Muggle newspaper.”

Irene nodded.

“It may be a bit of work to get all the newspapers from that date, but I can try.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Thank you.” He said.

He had no idea why she was helping him without asking for anything in return. Then he realised she wasn’t. Irene picked something from her drawer and approached him.

“Can you give this to Sally?”

Sherlock looked at the envelope she was holding. She explained.

“She won’t let me approach her. But I’d still like her to have this.”

Sherlock nodded but didn’t say a word.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I have the newspapers.” She said, sitting down at her desk again.

Sherlock nodded and left the room without looking back. Halfway through his return to the Great Hall he looked at the envelope. He opened it. Inside, there was a letter that he didn’t read and a photograph. Irene and Sally were smiling, holding hands.

Sherlock knew that what he was carrying was private, but he never expected it to hit him the way it did. Irene was giving up on Sally and getting rid of the things that connected them and suddenly he considered how much he would be willing to change had John given him an ultimate. The answer that filled his mind surprised him: he’d do anything to keep John.

*

Two days later Irene approached the Ravenclaw’s table, telling Sherlock that she had the newspapers he had asked of her. Sherlock was surprised; he did not expect her to get them so fast, but it was good news. He had lunch and then marched his way to ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ Office, once again all alone. John had classes in the afternoon and Molly had disappeared with Lestrade, so he was on his own. He didn’t really mind.

He sat at the customary table, going through the newspapers. He flipped the pages. The first four newspapers showed nothing, no mention of the occurrence. On the fifth, right at a corner of the last page, there was the same article as the Daily Prophet’s, but just as he remembered, slightly changed. There was a small unmoving photograph at the corner. It was black and white and discoloured and Sherlock hand shook when he saw it. There was a face. There was a small child that should be more or less Sherlock’s age at the time, posing unwillingly for the camera. Sherlock pushed the chair behind him and got up _._

“Do you know this person?” He asked Irene, with urgency.

Sherlock had the feeling he had seen that face before but he couldn’t be sure where to place it. Irene picked the newspaper and then frowned.

“Yes. He’s a Slytherin too.”

Sherlock’s heart started beating in his chest.

“What’s his name?”

Irene chuckled.

“Wow, he looks so small in here. It’s James Moriarty.”

Sherlock didn’t offer her an explanation. He snatched the newspaper from her hand and turned on his heels, darting out of the room.

*

Sherlock was watching John flying around the Quidditch pitch a few days later, practising with his team. He usually liked to leave John be when he came for practise but today he didn’t feel like watching him from Ravenclaw’s Tower and the weather was too inviting to stay inside.

He hadn’t told anyone about his recent and thrilling discovery. He had to think his moves carefully. He had looked for Moriarty on Slytherin’s table the same day he had discovered his identity, and had been paying close attention to his steps, doing it surreptitiously. The last thing he wanted was to be noted.

James Moriarty was a fifth year Slytherin, and Sherlock could not believe he had forgotten his face. After all, Moriarty played as seeker for Slytherin. He was usually seen with a Gryffindor student that John had – with his fair bit of curiosity that Sherlock dismissed with an excuse – identified as one Sebastian Moran.

Sherlock had thought long about the next thing to do and whilst doing so something else came to his mind: the Shrieking Shack. That seemed like a good place to hide things, and despite its name Sherlock was far too clever to believe the legends and tales people told. He couldn’t be sure if that had been turned into James Moriarty’s lair but it seemed a likely place and Sherlock had to give it a try. Besides, he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. He was at a dead-end despite the fact that he was sure he had indeed found the responsible for Victor Trevor’s death. It had to be him. The rudimentary pulley portrayed on the Muggle journal as well as the Daily Prophet couldn’t simply be identical to the one he found at the Owlery by accident.

Sherlock sighed. The next Hogsmeade weekend was in a couple of days and he would have a chance to test his hypothesis regarding the Shrieking Shack. He just needed to master up a way to get rid of John for a bit whilst in Hogsmeade.


	24. The Shrieking Shack Fall

John kissed Sherlock on the top of the head and ran for his table to have breakfast. Sherlock smiled, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. They would be leaving to Hogsmeade right after lunch and something told Sherlock he was going to find exactly what he had been looking for all these past months. He trusted John more than he trusted anyone else, but he knew that if he told John about his plan of action he would try to stop him and make him talk to Professor Adara. But that would be of no real use right at this point; to start off with, Sherlock had no proof of anything and Professor Adara was certainly aware of Moriarty’s record at the Muggle school. Besides, it was likely that the Professor would take Sherlock out of the way and stop him from investigating further and Sherlock had come too far for that. He was tired of not being taken seriously because he was young, like Mycroft did all the time. So he kept it to himself, which in turn would keep John and all the others safer.

Molly was eating silently in front of him. Sherlock faced her.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

Molly nodded.

“Yes. I am glad we are going to Hogsmeade. I want to buy a few things there.”

“Are you going with Lestrade?”

Molly smiled.

“Yes. We are planning on going to Madam Puddifoot’s.”

She blushed and Sherlock, who had never heard of Madam Puddifoot’s before, or if he had he had deleted that information, nodded. If that was a motive of happiness for Molly she must have had her reasons.

“You and John could go as well; it’s quite a romantic place.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but disguised how much the idea annoyed him, for Molly’s sake. Then, an idea occurred to him.

“Maybe we’ll go.” He said.

If he got close enough to Molly and Lestrade he might actually trick John and manage to slip away without John noticing.

Sherlock was silent the whole way to Hogsmeade, which by itself should be enough to make John suspicious, but luckily Mike, Lestrade, Molly and John himself were discussing Quidditch and the chances Gryffindor had to win the Inter-House Cup. Hufflepuff had lost against Slytherin the week before which annoyed Lestrade and Mike immensely, so now they were counting on John to pay their revenge. They chatted animatedly and Sherlock looked out of the window, thinking about his following plan of action.

They left the train together; Sally and Anderson, who had been in another carriage and looked quite grim, met them at the station and they all walked together amongst the crowd of excited students. Sherlock spoke for the first time.

“Maybe we should go to Honeydukes first, get sweets? It’s one of the busiest shops and we can get that out of the way right now.” He proposed.

Everyone seemed to agree and they headed in the direction of Honeydukes cheerfully, enjoying the wind hitting their faces. John smiled at Sherlock and then intertwined his fingers in his. 

Honeydukes, as Sherlock had expected, was full of students. It was hard to pace into the store, and moving along once inside almost impossible. He removed his hand from John’s and incited him to enter first. He was the last one of them, with Mike, Molly, Lestrade, Sally and Anderson already inside the shop, looking around. But he never actually entered. As soon as John released his grip on him and walked into the shop Sherlock stood behind and then turned on his heels, the door closing behind him.

*

He walked slowly, looking around, paying attention to any detail. He hadn’t seen James Moriarty entering the carriages at Hogwarts alone and hadn’t found him whilst entering the train, and he couldn’t really afford going for a search on the train without having the others asking him questions.

Many students were playing outside, on the snow. Despite the fact that it was May and the weather permitted long walks and afternoons by the lake in Hogwarts, Hogsmeade was always above the snow line and, at the moment, covered in snow as usual.

The further away he walked from the main points of attraction of the village and the closer he got to the Shrieking Shack the fewer students Sherlock saw. People used to avoid that part of town because in reality it had nothing to show. Sherlock stopped by the entrance of the Shack, taking in all the details. The door and the windows were covered with wood, making it unable to look inside. However, there was no use to do it now. By the door, holding his wand, James Moriarty was waiting for him.

The Slytherin colours seemed to fit Moriarty’s lean figure in a way that Sherlock could not put into words. The green and silver tie was perfectly tied against his neck and Moriarty moved his head to the side in a reptile manner. Sherlock reached for his own wand.

“Took you long enough.”

Moriarty’s voice was sharp and steady. Sherlock didn’t answer.

“You thought it would pass me by, you and your bunch of friends solving cases, pretending to have more skills than you actually have?” He shook his head, mockingly. “Tsk, tsk. Takes more than that to get to me, Sherlock Holmes.”

He didn’t spit the words, like venom, he pronounced them right, with satisfaction.

“Unfortunately,” He continued, clutching at his wand, a gesture that didn’t escape Sherlock’s attention. “I don’t like people prying. Pretending to be heroes and believing they can save the world.”

“You’ve killed people.”

“Hu, hu.” Moriarty denied. “I killed _one_ person. And a very annoying one if I may say so myself. Victor Trevor. Too clever for his own good. A shame John Watson didn’t take the same path, I’d love to have a reason to kill him too.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw, trying to pretend the words did not affect him. He couldn’t give him that pleasure.

“Killing Victor Trevor was fun, in the end. It could have been avoided if he minded his own business. I mean, okay, he would have died anyway, but he only rushed things for a few months.” Moriarty shrugged. “The quills were also a nice attempt, we had a lot of work for nothing, but success is always built on failure.”

He took a step forward. Sherlock didn’t move.

“Now, Sherlock, what are we going to do about you? You didn’t tell your friends about your last discovery, did you? About me?” He examined Sherlock, moving his head in the same reptilian way. “No, because they would have been wiser and stop you from doing stupid things like this. So I can spare them for now, that was wise of you. Still,” He added. “You know too much. What can we do about that?”

Sherlock spoke again.

“You tried to kill innocent people. And you must stop. Or I will stop you, one way or another.”

Moriarty grinned and shrugged his shoulders again. He then shook his head.

“We could stay here all day trying to come to an agreement, Sherlock.” He considered. “But everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.”

Sherlock locked eyes with him.

“Then probably my answer has crossed yours.”

And he raised his wand.

Moriarty was fast. His wizarding skills, just like Sherlock’s, were not in accordance with his training as a fifth year student. He also knew how to perform nonverbal spells and both of them had to guess and aim their defence.

Moriarty failed to guess one of Sherlock’s charms and landed on the floor. He recovered fast, and rolled on the ground, getting up. Sherlock was in advantage and he pointed his wand at Moriarty again, striking.

But Moriarty dodged and did more. Sherlock felt a weight on his chest, like a force pulling him back. By then they had moved away from the Shrieking Shack by a few yards and a lake reflected their fight like a mirror. Moriarty was close and Sherlock felt himself being pulled behind. Their bodies fell into the lake together, a confusion of limbs and cloaks.

Sherlock felt his lungs burn and his wand performed the charm all by itself. However the charm didn’t just harm Moriarty; it threw him back to firm land. Once out of the lake Moriarty pointed the wand at it and forgetting the nonverbal charms he shouted.

“Frigidus!”

He watched as the surface of the lake froze completely, a thick layer of ice covering it entirely, trapping Sherlock underneath it. Moriarty smiled and looked at his hand. Sherlock’s wand was in it. Moriarty smiled in triumph, conjured a hot-air charm with his own wand now to dry his clothes, and keeping Sherlock’s wand in his pocket, walked away.

                                                                                     *                                                                                           

John was desperate. They had searched for Sherlock in every shop and there was no sign of him. Molly, leaving Lestrade with Sally and Anderson and Mike searching for Sherlock on another part of Hogsmeade, had followed John.

“I can’t believe he did this!” John said, losing his temper.

Molly stopped for a moment. She pointed in the direction of the Shrieking Shack.

“Let’s go that way.”

They walked together in silence, looking all around. John was fuming. As soon as he found Sherlock he would kill him. John had the feeling Sherlock’s disappearance was somehow related to the case of the cursed quills and it made him even more furious. Sherlock had no right to keep things from any of them when they had been helping him all along.

The road was deserted and Molly looked around, getting closer to the Shrieking Shack.

“He’s not here.” She said, annoyed.

But John’s eyes had fixed on the frozen lake and the strange shadow he was seeing underneath. When he uttered Molly’s name as a plea, he barely recognised his own voice.

“Molly. He’s here.”

Molly approach and looking where John was pointing she screamed.

“John, we have to take him out of there!” She grabbed her wand. “Incendio!”

John got out of his trance, tears falling down his face without him even realising, and he cast the spell. It wasn’t working. Molly continued to yell the charm repeatedly but she was shaking so much that most of them weren’t even hitting the ice. John looked around and letting his wand fall to the ground he picked up a big rock with both hands. He hit the ice hard, next to Sherlock’s head but far enough to assure that Sherlock’s safety was not at stake.

He hit with the rock once, twice, harder. At the fifth time it made a crack on the ice and with the sixth time a hole big enough to remove Sherlock. Molly got up and as John pulled Sherlock by his cloak, she helped him out, crying as well.

Sherlock’s face was even paler than usual. He wasn’t breathing.

Molly took John out of the way and did something she never thought she would need to do. Her father had taught her and now she was going to do the best she could to save Sherlock.

She opened his mouth, tilting Sherlock’s head back. She inhaled and then started to give Sherlock full breaths. Then, moving fast, she kneeled at his side, near his chest, placed a hand on top of another on his sternum and pressed downwards. Nothing happened. She tried again. And again. She repeated the procedure, trying to hold her tears, trying to remain calm for the sake of saving him. But it wasn’t working.

Molly was tired and hopeless and she sat on the ice, sobbing now. She couldn’t breathe properly anymore.

“John…”

John shouted.

“Don’t stop! Save him!”

Molly sobbed louder.

“I can’t! I can’t!”

And John cleaned his tears and held Sherlock’s chin, and refusing to give up, copied Molly’s previous movements.

He was breathing for Sherlock, inflating his airways and pressing his chest to make his heart beat again. His head was spinning but John refused to stop. He wouldn’t stop; he wouldn’t give up on Sherlock.

“John!” Molly shouted, crying so much now her voice was all wrong. “It’s no use John, we were too late.”

But John didn’t listen. He focused on the way Sherlock’s heart felt against his chest on nights spent on the Requirement Room and he didn’t stop.

“John!” Molly shouted, angry and John didn’t know if with him or herself, or Sherlock.

“You are not dying on me!” John shouted.

And then, Sherlock gasped.

His upper body lifted from the ground and he coughed and Molly got on her knees again and turned him to the side and John was exhausted and he fell to the ground, on his back. The ice was burning his hands and his clothes were soaked against his skin but as he looked up at the sky he cried, of relief this time, and this was when John began to believe in miracles.

He got on his knees again and Sherlock was breathing, eyes wide open, and Molly looked at John and smiled between the tears and sobs, and then they both held Sherlock and the three of them stood there, crying and holding each other until Mike, Lestrade, Sally and Anderson found them, a mass of human limbs embracing one another.


	25. The Older Holmes

Sherlock was sitting in the train sided by Anderson, Sally and Lestrade. Mike, Molly and John were sitting in front of him, throwing their hands in the air in frustration.

“You are being absolutely adamant! Use your head, Sherlock!” John said, facing him.

Sherlock took a deep breath and then sighed. Breathing didn’t come to him without effort yet. He felt as if his lungs were still expelling the water, still complaining about it, struggling. Luckily he was now dry and John had purchased chocolate from the witch with the trolley and had made sure Sherlock ate it, and that helped more than anything. Sherlock had a few reasons why he didn’t want to tell Professor Adara. By now the Shrieking Shack – that he had never gotten to see but he was sure contained all the traces of Moriarty’s plans – must have been emptied, becoming useless as a proof. From what he had seen, Moriarty was a competent wizard and he would have no trouble in getting rid of whatever it was he kept there. Secondly, he had no witnesses of what had happened. John and Molly had gotten there after Moriarty had vanished and Professor Adara would have to believe his word alone, which Moriarty would refute. He had, of course, the Muggle newspaper – he was now thankful he had left it at Irene’s guard or it would be all ruined by now, destroyed by the water of the lake – but that only proved that Moriarty knew how to make a pulley system, it didn’t do nothing to prove he had made the pulley system that killed Victor Trevor. Once again, it was Moriarty’s word against his. And the most important thing was that he was sure Moriarty would escape immune to any accusation.

“They can check his wand!” Molly said, as a last attempt to convince Sherlock.

It was not as if this was exactly a discussion. Whether Sherlock wanted it or not they’d tell professor Adara as soon as the train reached Hogwarts. They were just trying to get Sherlock to cooperate.

Sherlock was tired; his mind was a swirl of fog and he couldn’t focus properly. So he shrugged his shoulders, willing to let it rest. He was most worried about his wand; he had lost it in the fight and he was not sure if it was forever sunken in the lake or if Moriarty had gotten hold of it.

“Alright.” He conceded, eating the last bit of chocolate. “We’ll go to Professor Adara.”

“It was not a choice we were giving you.” John told him.

Their eyes locked and Sherlock saw the worry in John’s, despite his sharp tone. John was still mad, not only with James Moriarty – who he knew well as Moriarty was the Slytherin’s seeker – but also with Sherlock. He could have trusted him, he could have told him about his plans, about what he intended to do. Instead, as if he considered John a burden, Sherlock had sneaked out and went to search for clues on his own, putting his life in danger in the process.  He could have died and the thought of Sherlock’s pallor when he removed him from the frozen water would haunt him for a long time.

Sherlock, John, Molly and Mike followed ‘The Yard’ into the Castle. Lestrade, who had heard Sherlock’s explanation on the way back to the Castle attentively, was giving them directions. He would go with Sherlock and the others to Professor’s Adara office whilst Sally would meet Irene at ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ Office and fetch the Muggle newspaper; it was something to support their theory.

Sherlock was half-dragged to the interior of the Castle and they went up the stairs together. Sherlock was staying behind and John stepped back, standing by his side. He held Sherlock’s hand and they both shared a look.

They walked through the Gargoyle Corridor and then stepped on the stone staircase, which moved in circular motion straight away. Lestrade, who was ahead, knocked on the door.

The door opened immediately, and as the Red Sea being parted by Moses, all of them moved out of the way, leaving Sherlock staring at the tall figure standing behind a desk. Professor Adara raised her chin slightly when she saw them all, standing side by side outside the office, framed by the door.

“Come on in.” Professor Adara said.

John let go of John’s hand and pushed him slightly forward, making him give an unwanted step towards the door. Sherlock walked in, followed promptly by all the others. They were a big troupe. By the time Mike was about to close the door Sally and Irene appeared as well, and they closed the door behind them after entering the office.

Professor Adara’s office was filled with strange objects, some of which Sherlock was able to identify, others too complex even for his deductive skills. But he didn’t admire the place for long. Standing on the right side of the room, looking rather grim, was Mycroft. Sherlock frowned when he saw his brother there, holding his umbrella and what seemed like a scroll of parchment. Mycroft seemed less surprised to see Sherlock there. Then, looking again at Professor Adara, Sherlock’s gaze fixed upon the desk and he saw it. Placed over it was his wand.

Professor Adara conjured a few more chairs in front of the desk and urged the students to sit down. They all did, except for Sherlock, who stood on the left side of the desk, facing Mycroft again. Professor Adara didn’t insist. She sat as well, looking up.

“I was just talking to your brother.” She told Sherlock, as a way to start the conversation.

Sherlock nodded.

“I assume you have something to tell me?”

Sherlock nodded again. He wasn’t sure how to start this. He hadn’t prepared himself and the fogginess in his mind wasn’t helping.

“I know who killed Victor Trevor.”

Professor Adara stared at him for a minute, then looked at the others and finally she picked up the wand placed over her desk.

“We found this at the Ancient Artefacts Room.” She said. “The scroll that had been stolen was replaced as well, so we have it back in our hands. This was the wand Mr. Adair found there, with the scroll.”

She showed the wand to Sherlock with a piercing look.

“You brother has identified this wand as being yours. Can you confirm that?”

Sherlock frowned once again.

“Yes, that is my wand. I lost it at Hogsmeade.”

“And how do you explain it showing up at the Ancient Artefacts Room just as the stolen scroll is back again?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He looked at Mycroft, then back at Professor Adara. John got up.

“It wasn’t Sherlock. He was with us. We just arrived in the train.”

Professor Adara nodded.

“Let us hear what happened then. You claim to know who the murderer of Victor Trevor is?”

Sherlock swallowed and then cleared his throat.                                                           

“Yes.” He extended a hand in the direction of Irene, who passed him the newspaper. Sherlock extended it in front of Professor Adara. “Here. James Moriarty. He killed Victor Trevor.”

Professor Adara read the article with care, and then looked at the picture for a long time.

“Yes, he warned us you might say that.”

Sherlock froze in his place.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“James Moriarty met me here about an hour ago. He was concerned someone might use this,” She pointed at the newspaper.  “Against him.”

“Why would he lie?” John asked, pointing at Sherlock, disliking the way the conversation was going.

“I never said he would.” Professor Adara affirmed. She then got up and approached a very small owl that stood still on the left side of the room, right where Mycroft stood, and tied a memo to its leg.

“Take this to Mr. Adair.” Professor Adara demanded.

The owl flew away and a few minutes later a new knock on the door announced Mr. Adair, who had James Moriarty with him.

They students turned on their chairs, in unison. James Moriarty grinned. He faced Sherlock. Professor Adara fetched another chair and pointed at it. Moriarty, standing on the opposite side of Sherlock, did not complain; he sat, a malicious twinkle in his eyes. He locked eyes with John. John turned his gaze away immediately and looked at Sherlock.

“James here seems to think you are using him as a scapegoat.” Professor Adara uttered.

Sherlock shook his head.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because _you_ killed Victor Trevor.”

Moriarty’s voice resonated inside the office, loud and clear. The others faced him again but he paid them no attention.

“It was very clever, to find all these things about someone and then use methods to make it look like it was them who did it.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Find something else. That excuse is old.”

“Check his wand.” Moriarty said, facing Professor Adara this time. “Check the charm he performed. “

“Irene gave me this newspaper a long time after Victor Trevor was killed.” Sherlock said and Irene nodded.

“It’s true. I did.”

Moriarty turned serious.

“Well, if you’re going to cheat with all your friends… Are they in this as well? Protecting you? God knows John Watson had a good reason to want Victor Trevor out of the way.” He then spoke to John. “How’s the seeker badge suiting you?”

John got up, ready to punch Moriarty in the face, but Molly held his arm.

“Check his wand then.” She said, turning to Professor Adara. “There’s nothing there. Sherlock didn’t do anything.”

John, who was fuming and still looking at Moriarty, spoke.

“I didn’t even know Sherlock when Victor Trevor was killed. You charmed the equipment. You almost killed him today!” He shouted, pointing at Sherlock with a movement of his head.

Professor Adara got up and they all fell silent, looking at him. She picked Sherlock’s wand.

“You won’t mind if I check it?” She asked Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, in approval. He was sure the wand would reveal more than it should; there had to be a reason for Moriarty to get that to the Professor’s attention, but asking her to not check his wand would have the same effect.

Professor Adara performed _Prior Incantato._ They all watched as the last charm performed by the wand was revealed. _Frigidus._

Professor Adara looked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

“Care to explain?”

Sherlock agreed. He then started to speak, slowly.

“I’ve been investigating Victor Trevor’s case since he was murdered. That’s why I told you about the charmed quills, Professor. I thought there was a relation between those two things.”

“How did you get to that conclusion?”

Professor Adara was clever. There were things Sherlock was not saying and she knew what they were, but she still wanted him to pronounce them.

“I-“ Sherlock hesitated. He would have to tell the truth, but he could spare involving ‘The Yard’ in it. “I went to the Owlery the night Victor Trevor was killed. I saw the pulley system. I found one of these.” He pulled the four pieces of red string from his pocket – the parchment that held them had been ruined by the water of the lake – and placed them on top of the table. “I collected a few samples of Victor’s blood…”

“It was concealed.” Professor Adara pointed out.

“Yeah.” Sherlock agreed. “It wasn’t a very powerful concealment charm. I used an un-concealment charm to check everything.”

Professor Adara nodded. She seemed surprised.

“It still required great magic skills.” She said.

“I have them.”

Sherlock looked at her defiantly and she grinned at his narcissist composure. Sherlock pressed on.

“Then there was the break in at the Ancient Artefacts Room. There was another piece there. Then the other one was at Hogsmeade, at the Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. All the quills disappeared and by then I had figured someone might want to curse other students, besides Trevor.”

“How did you know Trevor had been cursed? These red strings tell you nothing about it.”

“Oh. Well, I used some Cruor to check Victor’s blood and it showed a curse perfectly.”

Professor Adara accented with a movement of her head in understanding and then added, before Sherlock could continue.

“And this one,” She said, pointing at the fourth red string. “You found it at the library.”

It was not a question but Sherlock answered either way.

”Yes.”

“So it was you who broke in?”

Sherlock had no choice but to tell the truth.

“Yes. I was looking for information about the red strings.”

“At the Restricted Section?” Professor Adara inquired.

“Yes.”

“Did you find anything?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Yes. Yes, I did. But I still couldn’t erase these marks. I don’t know how to perform the charm to do it.”

Professor Adara held the string in her hand.  She waited for Sherlock to continue once again.

“I remembered something from when I was eight years old, an accident that had occurred at a Muggle school. Some boy who had been hanged upside down and charmed. He had been injured. But I couldn’t find the name or a photograph of the culprit of it in any wizard newspaper. Then I remembered there was a Muggle version of the news and I asked Irene here to fetch it for me. She did, and there was him.”

He spit the word, pointing without looking at Moriarty.

“I wanted to be sure before I did anything, so I went to Hogsmeade. I thought he might be using the Shrieking Shack to hide whatever it was he needed. That’s when he met me. He was waiting for me there, outside.”

He finally faced Moriarty, who wore the same smug expression as usual. Sherlock spoke once again.

“We duelled each other. We both fell into the lake. I lost.” He admitted. “He encased me underneath the ice in the lake. John and Molly found me and saved me. That’s all that happened.”

Moriarty smiled this time.

“Beautiful story.” He congratulated. “How long did it take you to come up with it?” He then turned to professor Adara. “I am in awe at this entire story. Using my past to create an alibi is disgusting. I was in the school all along, you can ask Mrs. Hudson.”

Professor Adara faced Sherlock.

“You do know your wand performed the _Frigidus_ curse? That is a charm used to freeze water. Then it was found at the Ancient Artefacts Room.”

“I’ve been with them all the time!” Sherlock said, pointing at his friends.

“All the time?”  Moriarty asked. “Can they confirm that? I thought I heard you say you faced me at the Shrieking Shack alone.”

John and Molly looked at each other.

“Was he with you all the time at Hogsmeade?” Professor Adara asked them.

They faced Sherlock and then looked at each other again and facing Professor Adara shook their heads.

“No. He left us for a while.” John said. “But I am sure there is…”

Moriarty interrupted.

“There you go, see? _Au revoir_ alibi. I feel insulted by the minute. Breaking into the Ancient Artefacts Room, putting the scroll back in place to erase clues, and then encasing himself in ice just in time for his friends to save him. Brilliant plan.”

Mycroft walked forward silently and placed his umbrella on the corner of the secretary, hanging by its handle.

“You said,” He asked, speaking to Sherlock. “That you were encased underneath the ice.”

Sherlock accented.

“Yes. They can confirm that.”

John and Molly nodded. Lestrade spoke.

“We found them all by the lake. It was frozen; there was a big hole in it, through which they pulled him from within. I can testify to that.”

“So, the lake was not completely frozen?” Mycroft inquired, facing Lestrade.

“No. There was a layer on top. That’s all.”

Mycroft smiled.

“Do you mind?” He asked Professor Adara, pointing at a silver tin that was placed n top of the desk. Professor Adara acquiesced.

Mycroft removed his own wand from his pocket and then pointed it at the tin. Without a word the tin filled up with water almost to the brim. He then gave Moriarty Sherlock’s wand.

“Can you please perform the charm _Frigidus_?”

Moriarty faced him with a defiant look and then, raising the wand he spoke the charm.

“ _Frigidus_!” He mouthed.

Immediately a coat of ice covered the surface of the water, thick enough that when Mycroft poked it, it remained solid and untouched. He performed another charm and the water became liquid again. He passed the wand to Sherlock’s hand and then incited him as well.

“You know the charm.” He said.

Sherlock approached and took a deep breath. He said the word out loud.

“ _Frigidus_!”

This time, the water froze. Not just the surface, but completely. Mycroft turned the tin upside down and the block of ice fell on the secretary, shattering into pieces.

“Not a perfect charm.” He told Sherlock. “The ice should be more compact, it shouldn’t have shattered.”

He made a movement with his wand and the pieces of ice disappeared. Professor Adara was facing him.

“The charm at the lake was not performed by Sherlock. If it had been it would have encased him in ice, instead of just trapping him underneath a layer. The whole lake would have frozen. So someone else performed the charm with Sherlock’s wand.”

What happened next was quick, almost unpredictable. Moriarty had slid a hand into his pocket and felt his own wand warm against his skin. He spoke the words he had been practicing for such a long time, the magic contained in the scroll Sebastian had stolen a long time ago and then replaced this same day. He knew what the consequences might be for him. He knew that like the others he might die, despite the charms he had made to protect himself and Sebastian if it came to this. But Sebastian was safe. By this time he was still destroying all the clues of their presence at the Shrieking Shack and Sebastian’s safety was all that mattered. If something happened to him, Sebastian would continue his legacy.

“ _Interficere!_ ”

Moriary had, however, forgotten one thing: in that room was one the most intelligent men he would have the chance to meet. Mycroft had read Moriarty like a page of an open book and seen what Sherlock had failed to. So when the wand perfomred the charm, ready to take all over the Castle, ready to kill in one single blow, with a silent curse, all the students and Professors and every living being at Hogwarts, Moriarty felt as if his entrails were on fire. His body was not responding to his commands and his tongue tasted like ash. And he realised in that moment that it was not just an impression. He was burning from the inside.


	26. Ricochet

Molly screamed and they all got up, getting as far away from Moriarty as possible. Lestrade held Molly in his arms as she hid her face in his shoulder. The others stood there, clinging to whoever was closest, shocked with the image before them. Sherlock found John’s hand amongst the mass of limbs pushed against each other and he felt as John’s trembling hand held his tight.

Mycroft crouched down onto the ground, next to Moriarty’s incandescent body and with his own wand he conjured a few charms, whispering word after word. When he finished murmuring they saw sparks coming out of Moriarty’s mouth and he exhaled, and Mycroft’s wand touched Moriarty’s skin and his eyes turned pale blue, almost glowing. Then everything went silent for a moment. They had not noticed Professor Adara talking to two of the portraits behind her desk.

“Someone from the Ministry of Magic will be here in a moment.” Professor Adara said, towards Mycroft. “You just saved us all.”

Mycroft left Moriarty still lying on the floor and got up.

“I may have just killed a student, too.” He picked his umbrella. “You should protect your dark magic better. A fifth year student was able to break into an important room twice and steal an ancient scroll containing a powerful curse.”

Professor Adara nodded.

“We will take care of that.” She then added. “The Minister of Magic will have an account of what you’ve done today.”

Mycroft nodded in approval.

“He needs to go to St. Mungo’s as soon as possible. There is still a chance he may survive.”

The door of the office opened and Mrs. Cave walked in, a worried expression on her face.

“Professor?” She asked. She then saw the body on the floor.

“He requires urgent care.”

“He’ll be transferred to St. Mungo’s immediately.” Miss Cave assured.

She pointed her wand at Moriarty, professing _Wingardium Leviosa_. Moriarty was lift from the floor and floated in front of her, and she left the room, making sure he wasn’t bumping into the Castle’s walls.

They all saw as the door was closed behind them and Professor Adara spoke, to Mycroft.

“How did you do it?” She asked.

Mycroft gazed at Sherlock, who was facing him with an air of reverence. Sherlock was thinking that maybe he had been wrong about his brother all along. Maybe he was someone to look up to, at least in some aspects.

“A reversing charm.” Mycroft answered professor Adara’s question. “ _Ricochet._ Instead of attacking the Castle he attacked himself.” He then turned to face Sherlock once again. “You had taken measures already, hadn’t you?”

Sherlock nodded and everyone looked at him. Mycroft approached the desk and held one of the red strings between his fingers, just to let it fall back on the desk again.

“How exactly did you do it?” Mycroft inquired.

“I hexed two first year students.”

Everyone was looking from Sherlock to Mycroft, unable to understand the conversation now. Sherlock removed his hand from John’s and approached the desk as well. He pointed at two of the strings.

“This one is similar to the one I found at the Ancient Artefacts Room. This one to the one I found at the library.”

“You found out how to erase the marks?”

Molly’s voice made itself heard in the silent room. Sherlock looked at her and nodded.

“I’ve been experimenting ever since we discovered the charm that erased it. Took me a long time but I finally managed to do it. Except, that I wanted to keep the marks. I wanted _him.”_  He said, a different tone in his voice. “To think his marks were still untouched.  So, I needed to make replacements. These two were easy enough to reproduce.” He explained, pointing at the two smaller marks. “They didn’t require a powerful charm. So, I erased the two marks and I hexed two first year students, creating new marks with the charms I used. Nothing serious, just charms that were easy to reverse. No one’s got injured.” He explained, at the outraged look on everyone’s face. “But these two were impossible to erase completely and I knew I wouldn’t be able to reproduce them, at any rate. I didn’t even bother much with the one left at Hogsmeade. I always believed he would attack the school first. But I managed to erase a small portion of the one I found at the Owlery.”

“You may have just spared his life with it, too.” Mycroft affirmed.

When professor Adara looked at him, expecting an explanation, Mycroft continued.

“Despite his age, James Moriarty is a powerful wizard, based on what I saw here today. He had been planning this methodically. Those marks were not just a way to make sure the Castle recognised and empowered his magic; it was also a way of support. The charm he professed here today is meant to be invoked by powerful wizards, or it may go terribly wrong. Those red marks were the foundation of James’ magic. They gave him power to endure the charm itself. But you erased two marks.” Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock. “Which means that it made him more vulnerable, less powerful, but it also made the charm itself weaker. When I reversed it, whatever was meant to attack the school and the students in it – resulting in a mass murder, nothing less than that – attacked him instead. I am sure he took caution and protected himself with charms, in case he had to act before the time he had predicted for the attack, which he had, due to today’s circumstances; this attack whilst he was still inside the Castle was not exactly a suicide attempt, but the protective charms only worked on him whilst the attack came from the outside, like it would happen if the Castle had been successfully charmed. When I reversed the charm, his own wand attacked him from within. When you erased the two marks, you made the charm weaker, the attack more feeble. So the charm didn’t strike him in full force.” Mycroft made a small pause. “So, because of you, James may still have a chance, against all odds.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Sherlock affirmed.

Mycroft stared at his younger brother. There was a sharp knock at the door and as Professor Adara urged the newcomer to walk inside, the door opened to show the Minister of magic himself.

“Well, it’s time for you to go and have some dinner.” Professor Adara said to the students who still eyed the Minister, awestruck. “The banquet is over but I am sure the elves will be delighted to get you some food.”

He waited for the message to come across and then watched as they all obeyed, walking in unison towards the door, slowly.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” Professor Adara still called.

Sherlock turned around.

“Yes?”

“Your help will not be forgotten.”

Sherlock nodded absent-mindedly, and with one last look at Mycroft he followed the others outside the office.


	27. Back To The Boring Days

Mike came to the table to meet the others, carrying a huge tray filled with food. They all sat together at the Hufflepuff table, the Great Hall deserted as most students had retired to their Common Rooms, full from dinner. They were all exhausted, but had too many things to discuss. Now it all made more sense; they knew who had killed Victor Trevor, they had found an explanation for the marks as well. They still didn’t know, though, what had led James Moriarty to act in such way, nor what he intended to achieve in doing so. Sherlock was tired of answering questions, tired of explaining he had no clue, nor could he think of any possible reason but pure madness and thirst for power, how twisted that might seem to the rest of them.

After dinner, with full stomachs and the same questions going around, none of them felt that they had energy enough to continue discussing what had happened at the Head Master’s office. It all seemed surreal, it had been a day of emotions and they were tired. Mike, Lestrade and Anderson left to the Hufflepuff’s Common Room, next to the kitchens, and Sally and Irene went down the stairs to the Dungeons, where Slytherin’s Common Room was placed. Molly, Sherlock and John walked up the stairs together, in silence.

Molly answered the eagle’s riddle and said goodbye to Sherlock and John; she knew they needed time alone. Even for her, after the events of the evening, it seemed impossible that just a few hours before she and John had saved Sherlock from certain death.

John stared at his feet, fists closed. Sherlock was gazing at him, not knowing what to say. Then, he understood what John wanted to listen.

“I’m sorry…”

He was going to add something more, but John cut in.

“Why did you do this to me? To _us_?” He asked, pointing with his head towards the door of the Ravenclaw’s Common Room, indicating Molly.

“I wanted to look for Moriarty’s hiding place on my own and…”

“Why?” John had now crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I thought we were all doing this together but all you have been doing is hiding things. Until I found you on that bloody frozen lake I had no idea that James Moriarty was involved in this, that you suspected him, that you had found who killed Victor Trevor. As far as I was concerned we were going to have a nice time at Hogsmeade, go to Madam Puddifoot’s and enjoy each other. Next thing I know you are stuck in a lake, to my understanding, dead.”

“You didn’t even want to go to Madam Puddifoot’s to start off with.”

John looked at him, mouth open.

“Sorry, bad time for humour.” Sherlock apologised, biting his lip.

“Unbelievable.” John said.

“What is?”

Sherlock was not afraid of John’s ranting. It was his silence, the things he didn’t say straight away that scared him.

“You. You are the most selfish person I have ever met in my life. What if I had gone on my own, eh? What then? What if you had found me, drowned in a frozen lake, with absolutely no idea of what to do? What if I had hidden things from you, then what? What if I had shown such distrust towards you…”

“I do trust you!” Sherlock said, raising his voice.

“Well, then bloody show it! You can’t just go around saying things and then acting completely opposite. What’s next? Do you even love me, or are those just words you say but you don’t commit to?”

Sherlock was shocked and, in all honestly, hurt. He clenched his teeth.

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t, is it? It’s also not fair to go doing things on your own, put your life in danger without even considering how it might affect me. I saw you there, dead, Sherlock. Do you have any idea how does it feel like? I thought I’d lost you.”

John was fighting back the tears. He would not show his weakness. Sherlock stepped forward and, carefully, opened John’s hands, holding both of them in each of his. John was trembling and he could not know now if it was of fury or fear. He then let go and took a step back.

“I don’t deserve you.” He finally said. “I’m sorry. I understand if you… If you don’t want to see me again.”

John shook his head.

“You’re an idiot.” He said. “You are the biggest idiot I have had the chance to meet. But you are _my_ idiot and god damn me if I lose you again.”

Sherlock lifted his eyes from the floor and stared at John. He was so angry and yet Sherlock could still see that soft look in his eyes John always had reserved for him. John shortened the distance between the two and held Sherlock’s face between his hands.

“Say you are sorry.” He demanded.

“I am very sorry.” Sherlock obliged.

“Say that you love me.” He demanded as well.

Sherlock chuckled.

“I love you, John Watson. I love you and I am a reckless idiot, but I love you. Please forgive me for not knowing how to love you the way I should and you deserve and I…”

“Oh, shut it.” John said.

And he pulled Sherlock into a kiss.

*

Sebastian Moran circled the whole castle, looking for James. He had been able to get rid of all the things that might lead people to James and himself inside the Shrieking Shack. Most of it had to be destroyed, but it didn’t matter, they were replaceable possessions. Now all he needed to do was find James. He had sneaked to the Dungeons, but getting into the Slytherin’s Common Room being a Gryffindor when so many people were inside it might be dangerous; he knew the password, but he doubted James had simply gone to bed after all that had happened that day.

James had been reckless; he should have made sure Sherlock Holmes was dead before leaving Hogsmeade. Instead, he had simply retrieved the scroll with the ancient curse back into the Ancient Artefacts Room, had given instructions about what to do with their possession at the Shrieking Shack, and when Mr. Adair came to fetch him, he didn’t even seem surprised. Sebastian just hoped he had had the common sense to come up with an excuse and wait. They had used protective charms in themselves, just to be certain, but Sebastian was not sure how good they were and James was really the person to think to the hell with it all and perform the curse whilst inside the Castle.

Suddenly, Sebastian stopped in his tracks. No. James would not do that. James would not betray him like that, put his life in danger like that, send him away to destroy their things in order to protect him. He ran up the stairs, a bad feeling taking over him. Mrs. Cave was sitting at her desk, writing, when Sebastian walked into the Hospital Wing.

“James Moriarty.” He almost shouted.

Mrs. Cave looked up and placed the pen over the paper. Sebastian saw James’ name written there in her carefully crafted handwriting.

“He has been taking to St. Mungo’s. He is in grave danger. Are you a friend?”

But Sebastian did not answer. He turned on his heels and he ran again, slingshot ready to stop the Whomping Willow from hurting him; he crawled and ran non-stop when the tunnel that led to Hogsmeade allowed him to, and he ran to catch the train that would lead him to St. Mungo’s. He didn’t care about the consequences anymore, the suspicions this may arise and when he couldn’t run anymore, sitting alone in one of the carriages, he pulled his knees up to his chest and sobbed silently.

He knew he had made a promise to James, but if James died, all promises would die with him. And there was only one thing left for Sebastian to do: seek revenge.

*

The next days at Hogwarts were of intense work. The story of what had happened at the Head Master’s office, in spite of a few made up stories and a certain lack in detail, was still accurate enough. No one really knew how it had spread throughout the whole school as none of the students who had actually seen it had told any details to anyone. But this was usual for Hogwarts and professor Adara didn’t seem to be very bothered with it.

Sebastian Moran, well known as Moriarty’s best and only friend, had been searched for inquiry the night before to no avail; he had disappeared from the Castle, leaving all his belongings behind, and Irene had told Sally that morning that there were reports of people who had seen him at St. Mungo’s, asking about James Moriarty. He was going to be interrogated to eliminate any possibility of involvement in last evening’s events, but for now he refused to leave James’ side, even when taken by force, and someone from the Ministry had be sent to the Hospital for Magic Maladies and Injuries to supervise him. Moriarty’s diagnosis was poor but the Healers were doing their best to save him. In time, and if he survived and recovered, there would be a trial.

The school’s exams would take place in a few weeks and it was most common to watch fifth year’s students studying at the library or by the lake, immersed in their own work. O.W.L.s were very important, and as the teachers never ceased to point out, they would define their future careers. John, when approached by the Head of his House about his future had answered with conviction: he wanted to save people. Sherlock knew he wanted to take potions, but he had no idea what to become once he finished his seventh year as everything seemed utterly boring to him.

John also had to worry about Quidditch practise; Gryffindor’s last game was against Ravenclaw and it was common to see Molly, Sherlock and John trying to convince Lestrade and Mike to cheer up for each of their teams. When John questioned Sherlock if he wanted Gryffindor to lose, Sherlock said yes, but he was lying: he couldn’t care less about his House when the other side was John.

The game was on a sunny afternoon and the whole school was there, as per usual. Being the Inter House Cup final, the tension could be cut with a knife. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were divided, most of them deciding for the neutral, some wearing the colours of the team they were cheering up for.

Before the game, the teams gathered at their respective locker rooms and John was sitting alone in a corner when a familiar voice spoke.

“Here. It’s good luck.”

John looked up immediately.

“How did you get in here? If Diane sees you she’ll kill you!” John said, but he smiled, pleased with the surprise.

He looked at Sherlock’s hand and on its palm was a small pin in the shape of a bee.

“My mother gave it to me before I came to Hogwarts. She used to play with it and she said she never lost a game when she wore it.”

“Your mother…”

“She was a seeker. Just like you.”

John picked the small pin from Sherlock’s hand, carefully.

“She gave away her lucky charm?”

“She says her lucky charm is my father now, so she doesn’t need it anymore.” Sherlock shook his head. “She is the cleverest witch I know but she has these outbursts of romanticism sometimes that I honestly don’t understand.”

John laughed. He secured the pin on his equipment. It fit well with it.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Sherlock leaned over to kiss him but Diane’s threats had him leaving the Gryffindor’s lockers before he could do so, and he managed to make his escape whilst John laughed at the scene.

*

Gryffindor won.

The party in the Great Hall lasted for a long time that evening and a few days later, when their O.W.L.s started and they couldn’t see each other as often, John would play with the bee pin and he was sure it would all be okay; Sherlock would admit to himself that maybe his mother had some sort of point, because when he thought about John he couldn’t help but believe that good luck had found him as well.


	28. Summer Time Promisses

John finished packing his things, looking around the room one last time, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. The bee pin was still placed on his night stand; he picked it up and put it on his sweater. He then left the Common Room and went down the stairs to meet Sherlock, who was waiting for him outside the Ravenclaw Tower.

The Great Hall was decorated in Yellow and Black, the Hufflepuff’s colours – that had been the winner of the House Cup. The fact that three Hufflepuffs - Lestrade, Anderson and Mike - had been involved in what they now called ‘The Moriarty Case’ had been quite relevant for this victory.

Sherlock and John had to turn away from each other to sit at their respective House table for dinner.

The end of the year feast lasted for long and by late evening students from different Houses were sitting together, talking about their O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s and the oncoming holidays. They all rejoiced with the fact that exams were behind them and they would be able to enjoy their summer in peace.

In a corner, without paying attention to all the fuss around them, Molly and Lestrade were dancing together to a rhythm not contingent with the music that was playing. Anderson, Mike and Sally were standing together nearby, laughing about a story one of the school ghosts was telling them.

Irene Adler entered the room with a majestic pace, surveying the crowd. Sherlock and John had joined Mike, Sally and Anderson and Molly and Lestrade were now being mocked by Mike. Irene walked towards them.  She approached Sherlock.

“Professor Adara met me on her way back to her office. She has news about James Moriarty.”

The music that was playing was not loud but the evening sky was punctuated with stars so they followed her outside the Castle. Some students were outside as well, running from one place to the other in groups, dancing as well or just hanging around, laughing and conversing. Irene spoke.

“Professor Adara has received a letter from St. Mungo’s.” She began. “They wrote that Moriarty’s state is stable at the moment. They still can’t be sure of the complete damage resulting from the curse, what they have observed is that he is catatonic. He is still being treated with some healing potions and he will survive. He does not give any sign of recognising anyone or even understanding he is at the hospital and incapacitated.” She took a pause and then looked at Sherlock. “Sebastian Moran was found on the night Moriarty tried to attack the school. Apparently, according to reports from St. Mungo’s, he walked from here to Hogsmeade and took a train there. There’s a secret passage from the Castle to the Shrieking Shack that he knew about and had been using, according to him, to get supplies from Hogsmeade, so that’s how he left the school that evening. The Ministry’s Office of Crime and Illegalities has checked the place but were unable to find anything that might connect Sebastian or even Moriarty to this case, it was all clean, so they don’t have a way of being certain if Sebastian knew about Moriarty’s plan, except for Sebastian’s words. And obviously Sebastian says he is innocent.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock affirmed.

“Moriarty will be kept at St. Mungo’s under supervision.” Irene continued. “They may transfer him to Azkaban if he does get better but the Healers are unsure that will ever happen.”

Sherlock nodded. All Irene was transmitting now did not surprise him. It was a miracle – how twisted it may sound since Moriarty had tried to kill everyone at Hogwarts – but people like Moriarty tended to get away with all the evil things they did. Although Sherlock could not help but think that this was not a way of living. Catatonic at St. Mungo’s or held at Azkaban. What bothered Sherlock the most in this outcome was that there was no way of knowing what Moriarty intended with all this. Power seemed to be the right answer, but he could never be sure if it was the definitive, and what plans he intended to put into practise after. Still, the magical world was now a safer place and that had to serve as any kind of contentment.

Irene interrupted his thoughts.

“The Daily Prophet contacted me.” She explained. “They read ‘ _The Pupil’s Eye’_ last issue. I didn’t have much information about the case to publish, so it was a small article, but they want me to extend it with the new information I received. They want to give me a whole page to write about it, but they want details from the beginning, and you have all the details on the case.”

Sherlock smirked and then pointed at Lestrade.

“He can give you a report on everything that happened since Victor Trevor was killed.”

Lestrade looked at him.

“No.” He said. “You figured out a lot more than I did.”

“You also know my steps from the beginning as we all spent an afternoon discussing it just a few days ago.” Sherlock reminded him.

“Yeah, but this whole case was more yours than mine. I helped, alright, but you figured a lot more.”

Sherlock acquiesced.

“Yes, I know. You did a good job for your capabilities, however, and I have no intention of having my name published on the 'Daily Prophet.’ So if you don’t mind, you take the credit for this. Explain the process as if it had been entirely yours. Just keep me out of the public attention.”

Irene was smirking, Lestrade awestruck.            

“You’re sure about this, Sherlock?”

“Fairly sure.” He reassured him.

Lestrade cleared his throat.

“Well, then… Yeah, I’d love to give you a report of what happened.”

He seemed baffled as he spoke to Irene.  She still had a smile on her face.

“Very well. Maybe we can meet somewhere during summer? I need to go to Diagon Ally to ascertain a few things with the 'Daily Prophet’ so that would be a good place for me.”

“I am going to need to find a few books for the summer.” Molly interjected, getting protectively closer to Lestrade. “So it seems good to me as well. Then the three of us can meet.”

Irene looked at Molly attentively.

“Very well, then. Let’s set a date.”

John felt his own sleeve being tugged at and Sherlock’s fingers sliding between his, pulling him away from the others.

“Are you really sure about this?” John asked, when they were too far away from their friends to be heard. “You are going to let Lestrade take all the credit?”

“I don’t mind.” Sherlock said. “The last thing I want is to get here next year and have people asking me about it. They can pester Lestrade instead.”

“He did help us, either way.” John admitted. “We wouldn’t be able to find about the marks if it wasn’t for him, Sally and Anderson.”

Sherlock nodded, a bit bored with the affair they were discussing.

“My parents are sending Harry and me to Greece for two weeks before they join us.” John affirmed.

“Hm.” Sherlock mumbled.

“I was wondering… My parents said they would like to meet you and I was wondering, since you said you don’t have any plans to leave London because your parents will be busy with work, if you’d like to come along.”

“Are you asking because you don’t want to have to deal with Harry all by yourself or because you want me all to yourself for two weeks?” Sherlock asked, playfully.

John stopped.

“Because of Harry, of course.”

Sherlock turned and looked down at him, laughing.

“Do we have to sleep in separate rooms?” Sherlock asked.

John looked at him with a funny face.

“I’m afraid so.” He answered. “My parents have some strict rules.”

“Good.” Sherlock said.

“Good?” John inquired, frowning. “What do you mean, good?”                    

“I like breaking rules.”

He grinned. John mimicked him, a naughty expression in his face, and they walked around the Castle one last time, enjoying the warm air of the evening and the memories it brought.

*

The next day, Sherlock, John, Molly and Mike entered the Hogwarts Express and found an empty compartment, almost at the tail of the train.  As they were settling in the door opened, revealing Lestrade, Sally and Anderson, who had been looking for them. They all sat together, debating whether or not they thought their O.W.L.s would be sufficient for the careers they wanted to pursue, which classes they intended to continue with the following year, and after realising that it was time they stopped talking about school, making plans to keep in contact during the summer.


	29. Exchanges

Sebastian walked up the stairs in the direction of the Janus Thickey Ward. He had been visiting James every other day since he had been admitted at St. Mungo’s. At first they would not let him see James, for security reasons, but as soon as James’ condition stabilized Sebastian became a known face to the Healers working there. He walked with confidence, carrying a package that had been looked upon and accepted at the entrance. It was a small gift to James, though he would not recognise it.

Sebastian swallowed; it broke his heart to look at James, seeming apparently healthy, and see no trace of familiarity in his eyes, no sign that he recognised who came to visit him so often. He was glad there was a chance of recuperation, though James’ future if he left St. Mungo’s would probably be even darker. Still, if James was healed he would probably find a way to escape and Sebastian was ready to help him when the day came.

He walked into the room, gazed at the corner where James stayed day after day looking outside. But his bed was empty, and with a big hole in the middle of it, making it possible to see the floor if you looked through it. Sebastian hurried back to the entrance of the ward and spoke to the Healer in charge of it.

“Where’s James?”

The Healer raised his eyes from the paper she was writing and looked at him.

“Oh, I am sorry, I forgot to tell you.” She got up. “He has been moved to a single room. He is locked away from the other patients.”

“Locked away? Why?” Sebastian asked, outraged.

“Well, James can apparently perform magic without a wand now. He almost killed a patient yesterday. He damaged quite a few items, luckily replaceable, as you can see by the state of his bed. I swear, as if it wasn’t a great act to be able to perform magic at all, he had to be able to perform such a dangerous charm.” She complained, unaware of the look of awe that crossed Sebastian’s face.

They walked together through a corridor. There was a door to the left and the Healer stopped. She picked a key from her pocket and opened the door of the room.

“I’ll close the door. Be careful with him, we still don’t know what has triggered him to perform magic and he may be dangerous. Though he has been very quiet today. Let me know when you need to leave so I can lock the door again. I’ll be at my desk.”

Sebastian nodded and the Healer left and closed the door behind her. Sebastian approached, carefully. James was still sitting by a window, looking as it was usual, outside. The room was simple and had solely a bed and a small night stand. Sebastian took a few steps, shortening the distance between the two, and pulling an available chair he sat by James’ side.

“I brought you something.” He said.

He placed the package wrapped with brown paper on top of James’ legs but James did not move. Sebastian unwrapped it.

“Here.” Sebastian said, showing James what he had brought him. “It’s your favourite book. It was destroyed when I had to…” He looked behind himself, making sure no one was listening. “When I had to destroy all the things at the Shrieking Shack. I forgot you had it there and I destroyed it as well. So I bought you a new copy.”

He picked James’ right hand up and with his fingertips traced the golden letters that read ‘The Grim Fairytales.’ James’ hand was cold and he made no movement that acknowledged Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian sighed.

“I wished I could have saved you.” He whispered. “I wish you hadn’t been this reckless and…” He stopped himself from continuing, putting two fingers on the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.” He apologised. “I have no right to be mad at you. I’m sorry.” He repeated.

They sat there, looking at the same spot outside for a long time. Sebastian talked and talked and then he picked the book from James’ hand and read him a few of the stories. He then closed the book, memorizing the page, with the intention to continue it on his next visit. He placed the book on the night stand and then came back to James’ side. He kissed him at the top of his head, messing up with his hair.

“I love you.”

He always said it now. Unfortunately, now was too late and James could not comprehend it. The sun was setting outside and Sebastian rubbed his eyes with the tip of his fingers. He left the room with a weight on his chest and called the Healer who locked it again.

James Moriarty heard the lock being bolted and blinked. He opened his left hand and there, on his pale palm, was a single streak of colour, a tiny band of scarlet string.

*

John and Sherlock walked along the harbour, trying to shield themselves from the sun. Sherlock had gotten a big sunburn on his first day there and John would mention it at every opportunity he had. Harriet had left them to go to a nearby village with some friends she had made on the first day in the island.

The place where they were all staying was a Greek wizarding village and wizards lived there quite differently from those in London. For starters, there was fish everywhere, stands and stands selling it and fruit and ice cream and at the end of the main road a small museum with many artefacts regarding the story of the village, and memorials mentioning great Greek wizards.

The village in itself was a cosy place and people were too friendly for Sherlock’s taste, who didn’t like to be randomly stopped on the street to be given things he hadn’t asked for. John found it amusing and would make Sherlock thank them for their kindness. John was used to the island as their parents owned a house there and it was a family tradition to come here every year on vacations for a few weeks since he was a child; he had learned quite a few words in Greek, enough to have a basic conversation, and he had passed that on to Sherlock as needed. Sherlock had gotten the grasp of the language faster than it should be humanely possible and he wouldn’t stop teasing John about it.

There was a small post office to where all owls would fly on their arrival at the Island and the mail had to be picked there. Sherlock thought the idea was completely impractical, as one had to leave the house to check for mail on a regular basis, but John had explained that owls with urgent letters or screamers were sent to their recipients straight away. Plus, the village was very small and it was a manner of driving people away from their homes to have a chat. That was what worried Sherlock the most.

They crossed the threshold of the post office side by side, wearing only shorts, barefoot. The lady behind the counter took their names and then used her wand. A letter levitated from one of the many piles into her hand and she handed it to John with a smile, wishing them a good day. It was addressed to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned the letter around in his hand recognising, even before seeing the name, Molly’s neat handwriting. He opened the letter and as they reached the harbour again they sat by the water.

“She sent us a copy of the 'Daily Prophet.'" Sherlock pointed out passing it to John.

John spread the newspaper on the stone ground, smothering it with his hand. Sherlock read the brief letter Molly sent them, describing her and Lestrade’s meeting with Irene and how her vacations were going. Sherlock placed the letter back into the envelope and they both turned to the newspaper. Molly had mentioned the article and it didn’t take them long to find it.

Lestrade had reported to Irene, in a very complete manner, all that had happened at Hogwarts regarding Moriarty: how Victor Trevor had been found dead at the Owlery, their research at the restricted section, the matter of the break in at the Ancient Artefacts Room, the quills stolen at Hogsmeade and later on used to curse students, and the dramatic denouement of the story at the Head Master’s office. He had referred the other students who had helped him by name, but as Sherlock had asked of him, Lestrade had made believe all had been mostly his making.

At the end of the article, before Irene signed ‘The Woman,’ in way of footnote, there was new information about Moriarty. According to the text, James Moriarty had been admitted to the Janus Thickey Ward but was now kept away from the other patients at that ward, in a locked room, due to a disruption he had provoked. There were not many details about the damage he had caused, but it pointed out the fact that he had been able to perform magic without a wand and was now being kept under strict surveillance.

John lifted his head and looked at Sherlock, who was still staring at the article, without reading anything concrete.

“I wonder if it will be enough.” Sherlock said.

“What?” John asked.

“The surveillance. If he was capable of performing a charm without wand I wonder what this can mean or how dangerous he may become.”

“Maybe it was something simple.” John suggested. “Like when we are kids and we perform magic without wanting to.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think they would send him to a locked room, apart from all the other patients, if the charm he performed had not been at least a bit dangerous.”

John shrugged.

“There’s really nothing we can do. He has Healers keeping an eye on him and from what we read in the article he still presents no improvement. He is still catatonic; he probably performed the charm, whatever it was, by accident, not fully conscious.”

Sherlock looked at the horizon, not knowing what to think. Still, John was right. There was no use in worrying about it when there was nothing they could do and Moriarty had done enough damage as it was.

“Come on.” John said.

Folding the newspaper and removing the envelope from Sherlock’s hands, he put ‘The Daily Prophet’ inside it. He got up and with a quick run entered the house they were inhabiting, just across the harbour, placed the letter on top of the kitchen table, and returned at the same pace.

Sherlock had gotten up.

“I bet I can beat you to that rock over there!”

John challenged and jumped to the sea, landing in such a way that the water splattered Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head, smiling.

“Whoever loses makes lunch.” Sherlock agreed.

He jumped into the water as well, but the competition didn’t start straight away. He grabbed John, who was trying to swim away, by his foot and managed to pull him down into the water. Then, as John surfaced, and Sherlock was ready to have to fight back, John pulled him close and kissed him.

“You’re an idiot.” He whispered, his hair dripping small drops of water.

“Yeah.” Sherlock agreed. “But I am your idiot. And you, Watson the mighty Seeker, are going to lose this race.”

And he started to swim away with John right at his heels.

On the kitchen table the letter rested, moving slightly with the mild breeze that entered through the open window. The article within had been the last piece of information they had had of Moriarty. For now.


	30. Charms, Objects And Other Stories

*

During my research to write this story there were a few charms and potions I needed but couldn’t find, so I decided to make up a few. Here are their names, which you have come across along the story, and an explanation of what they do, as well as a few side stories.

*

_**Cruor** _

A potion used to analyse blood and determine if a person has been killed with a curse or not.

**_Exposui Expositum_ **

An un-concealment charm. By pronouncing it, things that have been concealed by means of magic will appear, although there might be exceptions, depending on the wizarding level of the person who performs it.

**_Digiti Signum_ **

Power marks that may vary in colour; wizards create them so that their magic can become more powerful. They are stronger if they remain at the places they were created.  Coincidently, both Sherlock and Moriarty create red marks. Food for thought.

**_Infigo_ **

This spell creates _Digiti Signum_ , the red marks.

**_Deleo_ **

The only known charm that erases the red marks.

**_Incipit_ **

Takes over a person’s subconscious and makes them report situations as they perceived them, not always exactly as they occurred.

**_Frigidus_ **

It freezes water. It takes a bit of practise for a wizard to be able to freeze flawlessly great quantities of water at once.

**_Interficere_ **

The killing curse used by Moriarty. It is very powerful and when mastered can be used in places – like the Castle – to kill everyone inside it at once.

**_Tarda Ad Morten_ **

The curse contained in the quills and in Victor Trevor’s/John’s Quidditch equipment.

**_Tardus Legibus Peragere_ **

It’s not mentioned in the story; it is the curse James and Sebastian used to charm the quills and Victor Trevor’s equipment.

**_Ricochet_ **

Used to reverse a charm that is being used against someone by attacking its perpetrator through their own wand. A difficult charm to master.

*****

**Other**

**_Radio Velox_ **

 John’s broom was bought and sent to him by his sister a few weeks before John was accepted into Gryffindor’s Quidditch team, but John never knew this, assuming it had been a gift from his parents. She had been saving up for ages, believing that John’s moment to shine as a seeker would come eventually.

**_Alo_ **

A recipient charmed to keep in it many objects, protected by a password.

**_The Grim Fairytales_ **

Moriarty’s favourite book is made up of children’s tales and was based on Grimm’s Fairytales that are mentioned on the episode ‘The Reichenbach Fall.’ The stories of this particular wizarding book are grim indeed.  

*****

**Other Stories**

When Sherlock was about four years old his father took him for a broom ride but Sherlock ended up falling off the broom and hurting himself. When he was accepted into Hogwarts he made his father sign a letter asking for Sherlock to be dismissed from Quidditch practise. This is why Sherlock has never learnt to fly. The reason he decided to let John teach him was because he wanted to impress him. He didn’t do much.

*

During his time away from her on vacations, Lestrade wrote 172 letters to Molly. His owl ended up dying of exhaustion and only then did he realise both he and Molly, as Muggle-born, owned a phone.

*

Harriet got a job at the Ministry of Magic after returning from her vacations in Greece. On her first day at work Mycroft deduced her even better than Sherlock had. They hate each other.

*

Irene Adler became a regular writer for the Daily Prophet. She reports murders and strange cases.

Sally keeps all of Irene’s articles in a box, hidden underneath her bed.

*

Anderson met a Muggle-born girl and when she kissed him for the first time he realised he had been wrong about what love was all this time. His parents were furious when they found out, so he sneaks out during the night and he has never been happier.

*

Mike received ten O.W.L.s, making him the best student in his year.  He baked a cake to celebrate and shared it with his house-elf.

*

Mrs. Hudson sends biscuits to the students during vacations, so that they’ll remember that there is always a good reason to return.

 

 

The End


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